'   » 


m. 


W' 


■Ml.' :  ,"■ , 


r 


LIBRARY 


k. 


UNIVE 
CALI: 
SAN 


OF 
sGO 


Shelf.. Book2-Q~l'\ 

♦ 

D.   L.    DAVIS, 

SALEM,   OHIO. 


PR 


£ 


"1 


jb^^'i'OK^ 


S^7 


T  U  E 


POETICAL    WORKS 


OF 


THOMAS    HOOD. 


BOSTON: 

PHILLIPS,   SAMPSON   AND   COMPANY. 

1857. 


CONTENTS, 


POEMS. 

PAGE 

The  Plea  of  the  Midsummer  Fairies 15 

Hero  and  Leander ^^ 

The  Elm  Tree:  A  Dream  in  the  Woods 82 

The  Dream  of  Eugene  Aram 98 

The  Haunted  House :  A  Romance lOS 

The  Bridge  of  Sighs 119 

The  Song  of  the  Shirt 123 

The  Lady's  Dream 126 

The  Workhouse  Clock  :  An  Allegory 129 

The  Lay  of  the  Laborer 132 

Fair  Ines 135 

The  Departure  of  Summer 137 

Ode:  Autumn 142 

Song,  for  Music , 1*4 

Ballad 145 

Hymn  to  the  Sun 146 

Autumn 147 

To  a  cold  Beauty 147 

Ruth 148 

Ballad 149 

1  Remember,  I  Remember 150 

Ballad : 151 

The  Water  Lady 152 

To  an  Absentee 153 

Song 154 

Ode  to  the  Moon 155 

To  157 

The  Forsaken 158 

Autumn 159 

Ode  to  Melancholy • 160 

(9) 


10  CONTENTS. 

Sonnets, 

Written  in  a  Volume  of  Shakspeare 164 

To  Fancy 164 

To  an  Enthusiast 165 

"  It  is  not  death,  tliat  sometime  in  a  sigh  " 165 

"  By  every  sweet  tradition  of  true  hearts" 166 

On  receiving  a  Gift 166 

Silence 167 

"  The  curse  of  Adam,  the  old  curse  of  all  " 167 

"  Love,  dearest  lady,  such  as  1  would  speak  " 168 

The  Lee  Shore 168 

The  Death-Bed 169 

Lines  on  seeing  my  Wife  and  two  Children  sleeping  in  the  same 

Chamber 170 

To  my  Daughter,  on  her  Birthday 171 

To  a  Child  embracing  his. Mother 171 

Stanzas .....'.'.'..  1'. 172 

To  a  False  Friend 173 

The  Poet's  Portion 174 

Time,  Hope,  and  Memory 175 

Song 175 

Flowers 176 

To 177 

To 178 

To 179 

Serenade 179 

Ballad „.^;..^ 180 

Sonnets. 
To  the  Ocean... ........ ....................■^.;............  180 

Lear .^.V... ............................ ......  181 

Sonnet  to  a  Sonnet 181 

False  Poets  and  Tiiie  .'.ii.y.'.'...i. ...... ..'..'..'.., 182 

To .......:.\^m:\^^\[\....::\v.:... ..........  182 

For  the  Fourteenth  of  February 183 

To  a  Sleeping  Child 183 

"  The  world  is  with  me,  and  its  many  cares  " 184 


HUMOROUS   POEMS. 

Miss  Kilmansegg  and  her  Precious  Leg 187 

A  Morning  Thought 262 

Love  and  Lunacy » 263 

Morniiig  Meditations , 289 


CONTENTS.  11 

A  Tale  of  a  Trumpet 291 

No! 316 

The  Irish  Schoolmaster 316 

To 325 

Love 326 

The  Season 327 

Faithless  Sally  Brown  :  An  Old  Ballad 328 

Bianca's  Dream :  A  Venetian  Story 330 

Over  the  Way 339 

Epicurean  Reminiscences  of  a  Sentimentalist 343 

The  Carelesse  Nurse  Mayd 345 

Ode  to  Perry,  the  Inventor  of  the  Patent  Perry  an  Pen 346 

Number  One,  versified  from  the  Prose  of  a  Young  Lady 352 

Lines  on  the  Celebration  of  Peace 354 

The  Demon-Sliip 355 

Spring :  A  New  Version 359 

Faithless  Nelly  Gray  :  A  Pathetic  Ballad 361 

The  Flower 364 

The  Sea-Spell 364 

A  Sailor's  Apology  for  Bow-Legs 369 

The  Bachelor's  Dream 371 

The  Wee  Man  :  A  Romance 374 

Death's  Ramble 376 

The  Progress  of  Art 378 

A  Fairy  Tale 382 

The  Turtles:  A  Fable 386 

Love  Lane , 391 

Domestic  Poems. 

I.  Hymeneal  Retrospections 393 

II.  "  The  sun  was  slumbering  in  the  west,  my  daily  labors 

past" 394 

III.  A  Parental  Ode  to  my  Son,  aged  three  Years  and  five 

Months 395 

IV.  A  Serenade 397 

A  Plain  Direction 393 

Equestrian  Courtship 40x 

An  Open  Question 402 

A  Black  Job 497 

Ode  to  Rae  Wilson,  Esquire 415 

A  Table  of  Errata 43O 

A  Row  at  the  Oxford  Arms 434 

Etching  Moralized  :  To  a  Noble  Lady 441 

Ode  on  a  Distant  Prospect  of  Clapham  Academy 449 


12  CONTENTS. 

A  Retrospective  Review 453 

Fugitive  Lines  on  Pawning  my  Watch 456 

The  Brolien  Dish 458 

Ode  to  Peace:  written  on  the  Niglit  of  my  Mistress's  Grand 

Rout 459 

Pompey's  Ghost :  A  Pathetic  Ballad 461 

Ode  to  Dr.  Hahnemann,  the  Homoeopathist 464 

Ode  for  St.  Cecilia's  Eve 46B 

The  Lost  Heir 475 

Those  Evening  Bells 480 


THE    PLEA 


OP 


THE  MIDSUMMER  FAIRIES. 


(13) 


TO   CHARLES   LAMB. 

Mr  DEAR  Friend  :  I  thank  my  literary  fortune  that  I  am  not  re- 
duced, like  many  better  wits,  to  barter  dedications,  for  the  hope  or 
promise  of  patronage,  with  some  nominally  great  man  ;  but  that 
■where  true  affection  points,  and  honest  respect,  I  am  free  to  gratify 
my  head  and  heart  by  a  sincere  inscription.  An  intimacy  and  dear- 
ness,  worthy  of  a  much  earlier  date  than  our  acquaintance  can  refer 
to,  direct  me  at  once  to  your  name ;  and  with  this  acknowledgment 
of  your  oyer  kind  feeling  towards  me,  I  desire  to  record  a  respect  and 
admu'ation  for  you  as  a  writer,  which  no  one  acquainted  with  our 
literature,  save  Elia  himself,  will  think  disproportionate  or  misplaced. 
If  I  had  not  these  better  reasons  to  govern  me,  I  should  be  guided  to 
the  same  selection  by  your  intense  yet  critical  relish  for  the  works  of 
our  great  Dramatist,  and  for  that  favorite  play  in  particular  which 
has  furnished  the  subject  of  my  verses. 

It  is  my  design,  iu  tlie  following  Poem,  to  celebrate  by  an  allegory 
that  immortality  which  Shakspearo  has  conferred  on  the  Fairy  my- 
thology by  his  Midsummer  Night's  Dream.  But  for  him,  those  pretty 
children  of  our  childhood  would  leave  barely  their  names  to  our  ma- 
turer  years  ;  they  belong,  as  the  mites  upon  the  plum,  to  the  bloom 
of  fancy,  a  thing  generally  too  frail  and  beautiful  to  withstand  the 
rude  handling  of  Time  :  but  the  Poet  has  made  this  most  perishable 
part  of  the  mind's  creation  equal  to  the  most  enduring;  ho  has  so 
intertwined  the  Elfins  with  human  sympathies,  and  linked  them  by 
so  many  delightful  associations  v/ith  the  productions  of  nature,  that 
they  are  as  real  to  the  mind's  eye  as  their  green  magical  circles  to 
the  outer  sense. 

It  would  have  been  a  pity  for  such  a  race  to  go  extinct,  even  though 
they  were  but  as  the  butterflies  that  hover  about  the  leaves  and 
blossoms  of  the  visible  world. 

I  am,  my  dear  friend. 

Yours,  most  truly, 

T.  Hood. 


(14) 


THE  PLEA  OE 
THE   MIDSUMMER  EAIRIES. 


TwAS  in  tliat  mellow  season  of  the  year 

"When  the  hot  Sun  singes  the  yellow  leaves 

TUl  they  be  gold,  and  mth  a  broader  sphere 

The  Moon  looks  do\ni  on  Ceres  and  her  sheaves  5 

When  more  abimdantly  the  spider  weaves, 

And  the  cold  wind  breathes  from  a  chillier  clime ; 

That  forth  I  fared,  on  one  of  those  stiU  eves, 

Touched  with  the  dewy  sadness  of  the  time, 

To  think  how  the  bright  months  had  spent  their  prime. 

So  that,  wherever  I  addressed  my  way, 

I  seemed  to  track  the  melancholy  feet 

Of  him  that  is  the  Father  of  Decay, 

And  spoils  at  once  the  sour  weed  and  the  sweet ;  — 

Wherefore  regretfully  I  made  retreat 

To  some  unwasted  regions  of  my  brain, 

Charmed  with  the  Hght  of  summer  and  the  heat. 

And  bade  that  bounteous  season  bloom  again, 

And  sprout  fresh  flowers  in  mine  own  domain. 

It  was  a  shady  and  sequestered  scene. 
Like  those  famed  gardens  of  Boccaccio, 
Planted  with  his  own  laurels  ever  green, 

(15J 


16  THE   PLEA   OP 

And  roses  that  for  endless  summer  blow  ; 
And  there  were  fountain  springs  to  overflow 
Theu"  mai'ble  basins  ;  and  cool  green  arcades 
Of  tall  o'erarchmg  sycamores,  to  throw 
Athwart  the  dappled  path  their  dancing  shades  j. 
With  timid  conies  cropping  the  gx'een  blades. 

And  there  were  crystal  pools,  peopled  with  fish. 
Argent  and  gold ;  and  some  of  TjTian  skin. 
Some  crimson-barred  ;  —  and  ever  at  a  wish 
They  rose  obsequious  till  the  wave  grew  thin 
As  glass  upon  their  backs,  and  then  dived  in, 
Quenching  their  ardent  scales  in  watery  gloom  j. 
Whilst  others  with  fresh  hues  rowed  forth  to  wia 
My  changeable  regard,  —  for  so  we  doom 
Things  bom  of  thought  to  vanish  or  to  bloonu 

And  there  were  many  bu-ds  of  many  dyes,. 
From  tree  to  tree  still  faring  to  and  fro. 
And  stately  peacocks  with  then-  splendid  eyes,. 
And  gorgeous  pheasants  with  their  golden  glow» 
Like  Iris  just  bedabbled  in  her  bow. 
Besides  some  vocalists,  without  a  name-. 
That  eft  on  fairy  errands  come  and  go. 
With  accents  magical ;  —  and  all  were  tame,. 
And  pecked  at  my  hand  where'er  I  came. 

And  for  my  sylvan  Gompany,.  in  lieu 
Of  Parapinea  with  her  lively  peers,. 
Sate  Queen  Titania  with  her  pretty  crew. 
All  in  their  liveries  quaint,  with  elfin  gears  y 
For  she  was  gracious  to  my  childish  years. 
And  made  me  free  of  her  enchanted  round ; 
Wherefore  this  dreamy  scene  she  still  endears^ 


THE    MIDSUMMEE   FAIIIIES.  IJ 

And  plants  her  court  upon  a  verdant  mound, 
Fenced  with  umbrageous  woods  and  groves  profound. 

"  Ah,  me,"  she  cries,  "  was  ever  moonlight  seen 
So  clear  and  tender  for  omr  midnight  trips  ? 
Go  some  one  forth,  and  with  a  trump  convene 
jMy  lieges  all ! "  —  Away  the  gobHn  skips 
A  pace  or  two  apart,  and  deftly  strips 
The  ruddy  slun  from  a  sweet  rose's  cheek, 
Then  blows  the  shuddering  leaf  between  liis  lips, 
Making  it  utter  forth  a  shrill  small  shriek. 
Like  a  frayed  bu'd  in  the  gray  owlet's  beaL 

And,  lo  !  upon  my  fixed  delighted  ken 
Appeared  the  loyal  Fays.     Some  by  degrees 
Crept  from  the  primrose  buds  that  opened  then. 
And  some  from  bell-shaped  blossoms  lilie  the  bees, 
Some  fi'om  the  de^ry  meads,  and  rushy  leas, 
Flew  up  Uke  chafers  when  the  rustics  pass  ; 
Some  fi'om  the  rivers,  others  from  tall  trees 
Dropped,  Tike  shed  blossoms,  silent  to  the  grass, 
Spuits  and  elfins  small,  of  every  class. 

Peri  and  Pixy,  and  quaint  Puck  the  Antic, 
Brought  Robin  Goodfellow,  that  merry  swain  ; 
And  stealthy  Mab,  queen  of  old  realms  romantic, 
Came  too,  fi-om  distance,  in  her  tiny  wain, 
Fresh  dripping  from  a  cloud  —  some  bloomy  rain, 
Then  circling  the  bright  Moon,  had  washed  her  car. 
And  still  bedewed  it  Avith  a  various  stain  : 
Lastly  came  Ariel,  shooting  from  a  star, 
"Who  bears  all  fairy  embassies  afar. 

But  Oberon,  that  night  elsewhere  exiled, 
Was  absent,  whether  some  distempered  s])Ieeii 
2* 


18  THE   PLEA.   OP 

Kept  him  and  his  fair  mate  unreconciled, 

Or  warfare  with  the  Gnome  {^\•hose  race  had  been 

Sometimes  obnoxious)  kept  liim  fi'om  his  queen, 

And  made  her  now  peruse  the  starry  skies 

Prophetical  with  such  an  absent  mien  ; 

Howbeit,  the  tears  stole  often  to  her  eyes, 

And  oft  the  Moon  was  incensed  with  her  sighs  — 

Which  made  the  elves  s]iort  drearily,  and  soon 
Their  hushing  dances  languished  to  a  stand, 
Like  midnight  leaves  when,  as  the  Zephyrs  swoon, 
All  on  their  drooping  stems  they  sink  unfanned,  — 
So  into  silence  drooped  the  faiay  band, 
To  see  their  empress  dear  so  pale  and  still. 
Crowding  her  softly  roimd  on  either  hand, 
As  pale  as  frosty  snowdrops,  and  as  chill. 
To  whom  the  sceptred  dame  reveals  her  ill. 

"  Alas  ! "  quoth  she,  "  ye  know  oiur  fairy  lives 
Are  leased  upon  the  fickle  faith  of  men ; 
Not  measured  out  against  fate's  mortal  knives. 
Like  human  gossamers,  we  perish  when 
We  fade,  and  are  forgot  in  worldly  ken,  — 
Though  poesy  has  thus  prolonged  our  date. 
Thanks  be  to  the  sweet  Bard's  auspicious  pen. 
That  rescued  us  so  long  !  —  howbeit  of  late 
I  feel  some  dark  misgi\ings  of  our  fate. 

"  And  this  duH  day  my  melancholy  sleep 
Hath  been  so  thronged  with  images  of  woe. 
That  even  now  I  cannot  choose  but  weep 
To  think  this  was  some  sad  prophetic  show 
Of  future  hoiTor  to  befall  us  so,  — 
Qf  mortai  wi'eck  and  uttermost  distress, — 


THE    MIDSUMMER   FAIRIES.  19 

Yea,  our  poor  empire's  fall  and  overthrow,  — 
For  this  was  my  long  vision's  dreadful  stress. 
And  when  I  waked  my  trouble  was  not  less. 

•'  "S^Tienever  to  the  clouds  I  tried  to  seek, 
Such  leaden  weight  di-agged  these  Icarian  wings, 
My  faithless  wand  was  wavering  and  weak, 
And  slimy  toads  had  trespassed  in  our  rings  — 
The  bhds  refused  to  sing  for  me  —  all  things 
Disowned  their  old  allegiance  to  our  spells  ; 
The  rude  bees  pricked  me  vnih  their  rebel  stings  ; 
And,  when  I  passed,  the  valley-lily's  bells 
Rang  out,  methought,  most  melancholy  knells. 

"  And  ever  on  the  faint  and  flagging  air 

A  doleful  spirit  with  a  dreary  note 

Cried  in  my  fearful  eai-,  '  Prepare  !  prepare  ! ' 

AVhich  soon  I  knew  came  from  a  raven's  throat. 

Perched  on  a  cypress  bough  not  far  remote,  — 

A  cm-sed  bhd,  too  crafty  to  be  shot. 

That  alway  cometh  vnih  his  soot-black  coat 

To  make  hearts  di-eary  :  for  he  is  a  blot 

Upon  the  book  of  life,  as  well  ye  wot !  — 

"  Wherefore  some  while  I  bribed  him  to  be  mute, 

"With  bitter  acorns  stuffing  his  foul  maw, 

Which  barely  I  appeased,  when  some  fresh  bruit 

Startled  me  all  aheap  !  —  and  soon  I  saw 

The  horridest  shape  that  ever  raised  my  awe,  —   • 

A  monstrous  giant,  very  huge  and  tall. 

Such  as  in  elder  times,  devoid  of  law, 

With  Avicked  might  grieved  the  primeval  ball, 

And  this  was  sure  the  deadliest  of  them  all ! 


20 


THE    PLEA    OF 


"  Gaunt  was  he  as  a  wolf  of  Languedoc, 

With  bloody  jaws,  and  frost  upon  Ms  crown  ; 

So  from  his  barren  poll  one, hoary  lock 

Over  Ills  wrinkled  front  fell  far  adown, 

Well  nigh  to  where  his  frosty  brows  did  frown 

Lilie  jagged  icicles  at  cottage  eaves  ; 

And  for  his  coronal  he  wore  some  brown 

And  bristled  ears  gathered  from  Ceres'  sheaves, 

Entwined  with  certaui  sere  and  russet  leaves. 

"  And,  lo  !  upon  a  mast  reared  far  aloft, 
He  bore  a  very  bright  and  crescent  blade. 
The  which  he  waved  so  dreadfully,  and  oft, 
In  meditative  spite,  that,  sore  dismayed, 
I  crept  mto  an  acorn  cup  for  shade  ; 
Meanwhile  the  horrid  effigy  went  by  : 
I  trow  his  look  was  dreadful,  for  it  made 
The  trembHng  birds  betake  them  to  the  sky, 
For  every  leaf  was  lifted  by  liis  sigh. 

"  And  ever,  as  he  sighed,  his  foggy  breath 
Blm-red  ouf  the  landscape  lilie  a  flight  of  smoke : 
Thence  knew  I  this  was  either  dreary  Death 
Or  Time,  who  leads  all  creatures  to  his  stroke. 
Ah,  wetched  me  ! "  —  Here,  even  as  she  spoke, 
The  melancholy  Shape  came  gliding  in, 
And  leaned  his  back  against  an  antique  oak,     . 
Folding  his  Avings,  that  were  so  fine  and  thin, 
They  scarce  were  seen  against  the  Dryad's  skin. 

Then  what  a  fear  seized  all  the  little  rout ! 
Look  how  a  flock  of  panicked  sheep  will  stare  — 
And  huddle  close  —  and  start  —  and  wheel  about. 
Watching  the  roaming  mongrel  here  and  there,  — 


THE    5IIDSXJMJIEK    FAIRIES.  21 

So  did  that  sudden  Apparition  scare 
All  close  aheap  those  small  affrighted  things ; 
Nor  sought  they  now  the  safety  of  the  air, 
As  if  some  leaden  spell  withheld  their  A\ings ; 
But  who  can  fly  tliat  ancientest  of  Kings  ? 

Whom  now  the  Queen,  with  a  forestalling  tear 
And  pre\'ious  sigh,  beginneth  to  entreat. 
Bidding  him  spare,  for  love,  her  Heges  dear : 
"  Alas ! "  quoth  she,  "  is  there  no  nodding  wheat 
Eipe  for  thy  crooked  Aveapon,  and  more  meet,  — 
Or  withered  leaves  to  ravish  from  the  tree,  — 
Or  crumbling  battlements  for  thy  defeat  ? 
Think  but  what  vaimting  monuments  there  be 
Builded  in  spite  and  mockery  of  thee. 

"O,  fret  away  the  fabric  Avails  of  Fame, 

And  grind  doAATi  marble  Caesars  with  the  dust  : 

Make  tombs  inscriptionless — raze  each  high  name. 

And  waste  old  armors  of  renown  with  rust : 

Do  all  of  this,  and  thy  revenge  is  just : 

Make  such  decays  the  trophies  of  thy  prime. 

And  check  Ambition's  overweening  lust. 

That  dares  exterminating  Avar  Avith  Time,  — 

But  Ave  are  guiltless  of  that  lofty  crime. 

"  Frail,  feeble  sprites !  —  the  children  of  a  dream ! 

Leased  on  the  sufferance  of  fickle  men. 

Like  motes  dependent  on  the  sunny  beam, 

Liung  but  in  the  sun's  indulgent  ken. 

And  Avhen  that  light  Avithdraws,  AvithdraAving  then; 

So  do  Avc  flutter  in  the  glance  of  youth 

And  ferA-id  fancy,  —  and  so  perish  when 

The  eye  of  faith  grows  aged ;  —  in  sad  truth, 

Feeling  thy  SAvay,  O  Time !  though  not  thy  tooth! 


22  THE    PLEA    OF 

"  Where  be  those  old  di%inities  forlorn 
That  dwelt  in  trees,  or  haunted  in  a  stream  ? 
Alas !  their  nitemories  ai-e  dimmed  and  torn, 
Lilte  the  remainder  tatters  of  a  dream  ; 
So  will  it  fare  with  our  poor  thrones,  I  deem ;  — 
For  us  the  same  dark  trench  ObH-\ion  delves, 
That  holds  the  wastes  of  every  human  scheme. 
O,  spai'e  us  then,  —  and  these,  our  pretty  elves. 
We  soon,  alas !  shall  perish  of  ourselves  ! " 

Now  as  she  ended,  with  a  sigh,  to  name 
Those  old  Olympians,  scattered  by  the  whirl 
Of  fortune's  giddy  wheel,  and  brought  to  shame, 
Methought  a  scornful  and  mahgnant  curl 
Showed  on  the  lips  of  that  malicious  churl, 
To  thinlv  what  noble  havocs  he  had  made : 
So  that  I  feared  he  all  at  once  would  hm-l 
The  harmless  fairies  into  endless  shade, — 
Howbeit  he  stopped  a  while  to  whet  his  blade. 

Pity  it  was  to  hear  the  elfins'  wail 
Rise  up  in  concert  ft-om  their  mingled  di-ead ; 
Pity  it  was  to  see  them,  all  so  pale, 
Gaze  on  the  grass,  as  for  a  dying  bed ;  — 
But  Puck  was  seated  on  a  spider's  thread, 
That  hung  between  two  branches  of  a  brier, 
And  'gan  to  swing  and  gambol  heels  o'er  head, 
Like  any  Southwark  tumbler  on  a  ware, 
For  him  no  present  grief  could  long  inspire. 

Meanwhile  the  Queen,  with  many  piteous  drops, 
Falling  like  tiny  sparks  full  fast  and  free. 
Bedews  a  pathway  from  her  throne ;  —  and  stops 
Before  the  foot  of  her  arch  enemy, 
And  with  her  little  ai-ms  enfolds  his  knee, 


THE    MIDSUMMER   FAIRIES.  23 

That  shows  more  gristly  from  that  fair  embrace ; 
But  she  will  ne'er  depart.     "  Alas!  "  quoth  she, 
"  My  painful  fingers  I  will  here  enlace, 
TiU  I  have  gained  youi"  pity  for  our  race. 

"  What  have  we  ever  done  to  earn  this  grudge 
And  hate  —  (if  not  too  humble  for  thy  hating  ?)  — 
Look  o'er  oui-  labors  and  om*  Kves,  and  judge 
If  there  be  any  ills  of  our  creating  ; 
For  we  are  very  kindly  creatures,  dating 
With  nature's  charities  still  sweet  and  bland :  — 
O,  think  this  murder  worthy  of  debating !  "  — 
Herewith  she  makes  a  signal  with  her  hand, 
To  beckon  some  one  from  the  Faiiy  band. 

Anon  I  saw  one  of  those  elfin  things, 

Clad  all  in  white,  hke  any  chorister, 

Come  fiuttering  forth  on  his  melodious  wings, 

That  made  soft  music  at  each  little  stir, 

But  something  louder  than  a  bee's  demur 

Before  he  lights  upon  a  bunch  of  broom. 

And  thus  'gan  he  with  Saturn  to  confer,  — 

And,  O,  his  voice  was  sweet,  touched  with  the  gloom 

Of  that  sad  theme  that  argued  of  his  doom ! 


'o"- 


Quoth  he,  "  We  make  all  melodies  our  care. 
That  no  false  discords  may  ofiend  the  Sun, 
Music's  great  master  —  tuning  every  where 
All  pastoral  sounds  and  melodies,  each  one 
Duly  to  place  and  season,  so  that  none 
May  harshly  interfere.     We  rouse  at  mom 
The  shrill,  sweet  lark  ;  and  when  the  day  is  done, 
Hush  silent  pauses  for  the  bird  forlorn, 
That  singeth  with  her  breast  against  a  thom. 


24  THE    PLEA    OF 

"  Wc  gather  in  loud  choii-s  the  twittering  race. 
That  make  a  chorus  with  their  single  note ; 
And  tend  on  new-fledged  birds  m  every  jylacc, 
That  didy  they  may  get  their  tunes  by  rote ; 
And  oft,  lilie  echoes,  answering  remote. 
We  hide  in  tliickets  from  the  feathered  throng. 
And  strain  in  rivalship  each  throbbing  throat, 
Singing  in  sluill  responses  all  day  long, 
Whilst  the  glad  truant  listens  to  our  song. 

"  Wherefore,  great  King  of  Years,  as  thou  dost  love 
The  raining  music  from  a  morning  cloud, 
When  vanished  larks  are  carolling  above, 
To  wake  Apollo  with  their  pipings  loud ;  — 
If  ever  thou  hast  heard  in  leafy  shroud 
The  sweet  and  plaintive  Sappho  of  the  dell. 
Show  thy  sweet  mercy  on  this  little  crowd, 
And  we  wiH  muffle  up  the  sheepfold  bell 
Whene'er  thou  hstenest  to  Philomel." 

Then  Saturn  thus :  "  Sweet  is  the  merry  lark, 
That  carols  in  man's  ear  so  clear  and  strong ; 
And  youth  must  love  to  Hsten  in  the  dark 
That  tuneful  elegy  of  Tereus'  wrong ; 
But  I  have  heard  that  ancient  strain  too  long, 
For  sweet  is  sweet  but  when  a  little  strange, 
Ai\d  I  gi'ow  weary  for  some  newer  song ; 
For  wherefore  had  I  wings,  unless  to  range 
Through  all  things  mutable  from  change  to  change  ? 

"  But  wouldst  thou  hear  the  melodies  of  Time, 
Listen  when  sleep  and  drowsy  darkness  roll 
Over  hushed  cities,  and  the  midnight  cliime 
Sounds  from  their  hundred  clocks,  and  deep  bells  toll 
Like  a  last  knell  over  the  dead  world's  soul, 


THE    MIDSUMMER    FAIRIES.  25 

Saying,  Time  shall  be  final  of  all  things, 
Whose  late,  last  voice  must  elegize  the  whole,  — 
O,  then  I  clap  aloft  my  brave,  broad  wings. 
And  make  the  wide  air  tremble  while  it  rings  !  " 

Then  next  a  fair  Eve-Fay  made  meek  addi-ess, 
Saying,  "  We  be  the  handmaids  of  the  Spring, 
In  sign  whereof,  ]May,  the  quaint  broideress. 
Hath  wTought  her  samplers  on  our  gauzy  wing. 
We  tend  upon  buds'  birth  and  blossoming. 
And  count  the  leafy  tributes  that  they  owe  — 
As,  so  much  to  the  earth  —  so  much  to  fling 
In  showers  to  the  brook  —  so  much  to  go 
In  whirhvinds  to  the  clouds  that  made  them  gi-ow. 

"  The  pastoral  cowslips  are  om*  little  pets. 
And  daisy  stars,  whose  firmament  is  gi-een ; 
Pansies,  and  those  veiled  nuns,  meek  violets, 
Sighing  to  that  warm  world  from  which  they  screen  ; 
And  golden  daffodils,  plucked  for  May's  Queen ; 
And  lonely  harebells,  quaking  on  the  heath  ; 
And  Hyacinth,  long  smce  a  fair  youth  seen. 
Whose  tuneful  voice,  tm-ned  fragrance  in  his  breath. 
Kissed  by  sad  Zephyr,  guilty  of  liis  death. 

"  The  widowed  primrose  weeping  to  the  moon, 
And  saffron  crocus,  in  whose  chalice  bright 
A  cool  libation  hoarded  for  the  noon 
Is  kept  —  and  she  that  purifies  the  light, 
The  virgin  lily,  faithful  to  her  white, 
Whereon  Eve  wept  in  Eden  for  her  shame ; 
And  the  most  dainty  rose,  Aurora's  spright, 
Our  every  godchild,  by  whatever  name  — 
Spare  us  our  lives,  for  we  did  mu'ee  the  same ! " 
3 


26  THE   PLEA   OF 

Then  that,  old  Mower  stam])ed  his  heel,  and  struck 
His  hurtful  scythe  against  the  harmless  ground. 
Saying,  "  Ye  foolish  imps,  when  am  I  stuck 
"With  gaudy  buds,  or  Uke  a  wooer  crowned 
"With  flowery  chaplets,  save  when  they  are  found 
Withered  ?  —  Whenever  have  I  plucked  a  rose, 
Except  to  scatter  its  vain  leaves  around  ? 
For  so  all  gloss  of  beauty  I  oppose, 
And  bring  decay  on  every  flower  that  blows. 

"  Or  when  am  I  so  wroth  as  when  I  \iew 

The  wanton  pride  of  Summer ;  —  how  she  decks 

The  birthday  world  with  blossoms  ever  new, 

As  if  Time  had  not  lived,  and  heaped  great  wrecks 

Of  years  on  years  ?  —  O,  then  I  bravely  vex 

And  catch  the  gay  Months  in  their  gaudy  plight, 

And  slay  them  with  the  wreaths  about  their  necks, 

LilvB  foolish  heifers  in  the  holy  rite, 

And  raise  great  trophies  to  my  ancient  might ! " 

Then  saith  another,  "  We  are  kindly  things, 
And  lilie  her  offspring  nestle  with  the  dove,  — 
Witness  these  heai'ts  embroidered  on  our  wings. 
To  show  our  constant  patronage  of  love :  — 
We  sit  at  even,  in  sweet  bowers  above 
Lovers,  and  shake  rich  odors  on  the  air, 
To  mingle  with  then-  sighs  ;  and  still  remove 
The  startling  owl,  and  bid  the  bat  forbear 
Their  privacy,  and  haunt  some  other  where. 

"  And  we  are  near  the  mother  when  she  sits 
Beside  her  infant  in  its  wicker  bed  ; 
And  we  are  in  the  fairy  scene  that  flits 
Across  its  tender  brain :  sweet  dreams  we  shed, 
And  whilst  the  tender  little  soul  is  fled 


THE    MIDSUMMER   FAIKIES.  27 

Away,  to  sport  with  our  young  elves,  the  while 
We  touch  the  dimpled  cheek  with  roses  red, 
And  tickle  the  soft  Hps  until  they  smile. 
So  that  their  careful  pai'ents  they  beguile. 

"  O,  then,  if  ever  thou  hast  breathed  a  vow 
At  Love's  dear  portal,  or  at  pale  moon-rise 
Crushed  the  dear  ciu-1  on  a  regardful  brow 
That  did  not  fi-o\ra  thee  from  thy  honej-  jirize  — 
If  ever  thy  sweet  son  sat  on  thy  thighs, 
And  wooed  thee  from  thy  careful  thoughts  within 
To  Avatch  the  harmless  beauty  of  his  eyes, 
Or  glad  thy  fingers  on  his  smooth,  soft  sldn, 
For  love's  dear  sake,  let  us  thy  pity  win ! " 

Then  Saturn  fiercely  thus  :  "  What  joy  have  I 
In  tender  babes,  that  have  devoured  mine  own, 
Whenever  to  the  light  I  heard  them  cry, 
Till  fooHsh  Rhea  cheated  me  with  st«ae  ? 
Whereon,  till  now,  is  my  great  hunger  shown, 
In  monstrous  dints  of  my  enormous  tooth  ; 
And,  —  but  the  peopled  world  is  too  full  grovm. 
For  hunger's  edge,  —  I  would  consume  all  youth 
At  one  great  meal,  without  delay  or  rulh  1 

"  For  I  am  well-nigh  crazed  and  wild  to  hear 
How  boastful  fathers  taunt  me  with  their  breed, 
Sajing,  '  We  shall  not  die  nor  disappear. 
But  in  these  other  selves  ourselves  succeed, 
Even  as  rii)e  flowers  pass  into  their  seed 
Only  to  be  renewed  from  jjrime  to  prime,' 
All  of  which  boastings  I  am  forced  to  read, 
Besides  a  thousand  challenges  to  Time 
Which  bragging  lovers  have  compiled  in  rhyme. 


28  THE   PLEA    OF 

"  Wherefore,  Avhen  they  are  sweetly  met  o'  nights, 
There  will  I  steal,  and  with  my  Imrricd  hand 
Startle  them  suddenly  from  their-  delights 
Before  their  next  encounter  hath  heen  planned, 
Ravisliing  hom's  in  little  minutes  spanned ; 
But  when  they  say  farewell,  and  grieve  apart. 
Then  like  a  leaden  statue  I  will  stand, 
Meanwliile  theu-  many  tears  incrust  my  dart, 
And  with  a  ragged  edge  cut  heart  from  heart." 

Then  next  a  merry  Woodsman,  clad  in  green, 
Ste])t  vanward  from  his  mates,  that  idly  stood 
Each  at  his  proper  ease,  as  they  had  been 
Nm-sed  in  the  Uberty  of  old  Sherwood, 
And  wore  the  livery  of  Robin  Hood, 
Who  wont  in  forest  shades  to  dine  and  sup,  — 
So  came  this  chief  right  frankly,  and  made  good 
His  haunch  against  his  axe,  and  thus  spoke  up. 
Doffing  his  cap,  ^lich  was  an  acorn's  cup  : 

"  We  be  small  foresters  and  gay,  who  tend 
On  trees  and  all  their  fiu'niture  of  green, 
Training  the  young  boughs  airily  to  bend. 
And  show  blue  snatches  of  the  sky  between ; 
Or  knit  more  close  intricacies,  to  screen 
Birds'  crafty  dwellings,  as  may  hide  them  best, 
But  most  the  timid  blackbird's  —  she,  that  seen, 
Will  bear  black  poisonous  berries  to  her'  nest, 
Lest  man  should  cage  the  darlings  of  her  breast. 

"  We  bend  each  tree  in  proper  attitude, 
And  founting  willows  train  in  silverj'  falls  ; 
We  frame  all  shady  roofs  and  ai'ches  rude. 
And  verdant  aisles  leading  to  Drjads'  halls. 
Or  deep  recesses  where  the  Echo  calls ;  — 


THE    MIDSUMMEB,    FAIRIES.  29 

We  shape  all  plumy  trees  against  the  sky, 
And  carve  tall  elms'  Corinthian  capitals, — 
When  sometimes,  as  om-  tiny  hatchets  ply, 
Men  say,  the  tapping  -woodpecker  is  nigh. 

"  Sometimes  we  scoop  the  squirrel's  hollow  cell, 

And  sometimes  carve  quaint  letters  on  trees'  rind, 

That  haply  some  lone  musing  wight  may  spell 

Dainty  Aminta,  —  gentle  Rosalind,  — 

Or  chastest  Laura,  —  SAveetly  called  to  mind 

In  sylvan  solitudes,  ere  he  Ues  doMTi ;  — 

And  sometimes  we  enrich  gi'ay  stems,  vdth.  tmned 

And  vagrant  ivy,  —  or  rich  moss,  whose  brown 

Burns  into  gold  as  the  warm  sun  goes  down. 

"  And,  lastly,  for  mirth's  sake  and  Chi-istmas  cheer, 
We  bear  the  seedling  berries,  for  increase, 
To  graft  the  Druid  oaks,  from  year  to  year. 
Careful  that  mistletoe  may  never  cease ;  — 
'V\'Tierefore,  if  thou  dost  prize  the  shady  peace 
Of  sombre  forests,  or  to  see  Kght  break 
Through  sylvan  cloisters,  and  in  spring  release 
Thy  spirit  amongst  leaves  from  careful  ake, 
Spare  us  our  Hves  for  the  Green  Diyad's  sake." 

Then  Saturn,  with  a  frown  :  "  Go  forth,  and  fell 

Oak  for  your  coffins,  and  thenceforth  lay  by 

Yom-  axes  for  the  rust,  and  bid  farewell 

To  all  sweet  birds,  and  the  blue  peeps  of  sky 

Through  tangled  branches,  for  ye  shall  not  spy 

The  next  green  generation  of  the  tree  ; 

But  hence  with  the  dead  leaves,  whene'er  they  fly, 

AVhich  in  the  bleak  air  I  would  rather  see, 

Than  flights  of  the  most  tuneful  birds  that  be. 


80  THE   PLEA   OF 

"  For  I  dislike  all  prime,  and  verdant  pets, 

Ivy  except,  that  on  the  aged  wall 

Preys  with  its  worm-like  roots,  and  daily  frets 

The  crumbled  tower  it  seems  to  league  withal, 

King-lilie,  worn  down  by  its  own  coronal :  — 

Neither  in  forest  haunts  love  I  to  won. 

Before  the  golden  plumage  'gins  to  fall, 

And  leaves  the  browii  bleak  limbs  with  few  leaves  on. 

Or  bare  —  like  Natm-e  in  her  skeleton. 

"  For  then  sit  I  amongst  the  ci'ooked  boughs, 
Wooing  dull  Memory  with  kindred  sighs  ; 
And  there  in  rustling  nuptials  we  espouse, 
Smit  by  the  sadness  in  each  other's  eyes ;  — 
But  Hope  must  have  green  bowers  and  blue  skies. 
And  must  be  courted  mth  the  gauds  of  spring ; 
Whilst  Youth  leans  godlike  on  her  lap,  and  cries, 
What  shall  we  always  do,  but  love  and  sing  ?  — 
And  Time  is  reckoned  a  discarded  thing." 

Here  in  my  dream  it  made  me  fret  to  see 

How  Puck,  the  antic,  all  this  di-eary  while 

Had  blithely  jested  Avith  calamity, 

With  mistimed  mirth  mocking  the  doleful  style 

Of  his  sad  comrades,  till  it  raised  my  bile 

To  see  him  so  reflect  theii-  grief  aside, 

Turning  their  solemn  looks  to  half  a  smile  — 

Like  a  straight  stick  shown  crooked  in  the  tide ;  — 

But  soon  a  novel  advocate  I  spied. 

Quoth  he,  "  We  teach  all  natures  to  fulfil 
Then-  fore-appointed  crafts,  and  instincts  meet,  — 
The  bee's  sweet  alchemy,  —  the  spider's  skill,  — 
The  pismire's  care  to  garner  up  his  wheat,  — 
And  rustic  masonry  to  swallows  fleet,  — 


THE    MIDSUMMER   FAIRIES.  31 

The  lapwing's  cunning  to  preserve  her  nest,  — 
But  most  that  lesser  pelican,  the  sweet 
And  shrilly  ruddock,  Avith  its  bleeding  breast. 
Its  tender  pity  of  poor  babes  distrest. 

"  Sometimes  we  cast  our  shapes,  and  in  sleek  skins 
Delve  with  the  timid  mole,  that  aptly  delves 
From  our  example ;  so  the  spider  spins, 
And  eke  the  silk-worm,  patterned  by  om-selves : 
Sometimes  we  travail  on  the  summer  shelves 
Of  early  bees,  and  busy  toils  commence. 
Watched  of  wise  men,  that  know  not  we  are  elves, 
But  gaze  and  marvel  at  our  stretch  of  sense. 
And  praise  our  human-like  intelligence. 

"  Wherefore,  by  thy  delight  in  that  old  tale, 
And  plaintive  dirges  the  late  robins  sing. 
What  time  the  leaves  are  scattered  by  the  gale, 
Mindful  of  that  old  forest  burying ;  — 
As  thou  dost  love  to  watch  each  tiny  thing. 
For  whom  our  craft  most  curiously  contrives, 
If  thou  hast  caught  a  bee  upon  the  wing, 
To  take  his  honey-bag,  —  spare  us  our  lives, 
And  we  wiU.  pay  the  ransom  in  full  hives." 

"  Now  by  my  glass,"  quoth  Time,  "  ye  do  offend 
In  teaching  the  brown  bees  that  careful  lore, 
And  frugal  ants,  whose  millions  would  have  end, 
But  they  lay  up  for  need  a  timely  store. 
And  travail  with  the  seasons  evermore ; 
Wliereas  Great  Mammoth  long  hath  passed  away. 
And  none  but  I  can  tell  what  hide  he  wore  ; 
Whilst  ])urblind  men,  the  creatures  of  a  day. 
In  riddling  wonder  his  great  bones  survej-." 


32  THE    PLEA   OF 

Then  came  an  elf,  right  beauteous  to  behold, 
Whose  coat  was  like  a  brooklet  that  the  sun 
Hath  all  embroidered  with  its  crooked  gold, 
It  was  so  quaintly  wi'ought  and  overrun 
With  spangled  traceries,  —  most  meet  for  one 
That  was  a  warden  of  the  pearly  streams ;  — 
And  as  he  stept  out  of  the  shadows  dun, 
His  jewels  sparkled  in  the  pale  moon's  gleams, 
And  shot  into  the  air  their  pointed  beams. 

Quoth  he,  "  We  bear  the  gold  and  silver  keys 

Of  bubbling  springs  and  fountains,  that  below 

Course  through  the  veiny  earth, — which,  when  they  freeze 

Into  hard  chrysolites,  we  bid  to  flow, 

Creeping  like  subtle  snakes,  when,  as  they  go, 

We  guide  their  windings  to  melodious  falls, 

At  whose  soft  murmurings  so  sweet  and  low 

Poets  have  turned  their  smoothest  madrigals, 

To  sing  to  ladies  in  their  banquet-halls. 

"  And  when  the  hot  sun  with  his  steadfast  heat 
Parches  the  river  god,  —  whose  dusty  urn 
Drips  miserly,  till  soon  his  crystal  feet 
Against  his  pebbly  floor  wax  faint  and  burn, 
And  languid  fish,  unpoised,  grow  sick  and  yearn,  — 
Then  scoop  we  hollows  in  some  sandy  nook, 
And  little  channels  dig,  Avherein  we  turn 
The  thread-worn  rivulet,  that  all  forsook 
The  Naiad-Uly,  pining  for  her  brook. 

"  Wherefore,  by  thy  delight  in  cool  green  meads. 
With  living  sapphires  daintily  inlaid,  — 
In  all  soft  songs  of  waters  and  their  reeds,  — 
And  all  reflections  in  a  streamlet  made. 
Haply  of  thy  own  love,  that,  disarrayed. 


THE    MIDSUMMER   FAIRIES.  33 

Kills  the  fair  lily  mth  a  livelier  white,  — 
By  silver  trouts  upspriiiging  fi-oni  green  shade, 
And  winking  stars  reduplicate  at  night. 
Spare  us,  poor  ministers,  to  such  delight." 

Ilowbeit  his  pleading  and  liis  gentle  looks 

i\Ioved  not  the  spiteful  Shade  :  —  Quoth  he,  "  Your  taste 

Shoots  wide  of  mine,  for  I  despise  the  brooks 

And  slavish  rivulets  that  run  to  waste 

In  noontide  sweats,  or,  like  poor  vassals,  haste 

To  SAvell  the  vast  dominion  of  the  sea, 

In  whose  great  presence  I  am  held  disgraced. 

And  neighbored  with  a  king  that  rivals  me 

In  ancient  might  and  hoary  majesty. 

"  Whereas  I  nded  in  chaos,  and  still  keep 

The  awful  secrets  of  that  ancient  dearth. 

Before  the  briny  fountains  of  the  deep 

Brimmed  up  the  hollow  caAities  of  earth  ;  — 

I  saw  each  trickling  Sea-God  at  his  bulh. 

Each  pearly  Naiad  with  her  oozy  locks. 

And  infant  Titans  of  enormous  girth, 

Whose  huge  young  feet  yet  stumbled  on  the  rocks, 

Stunning  the  eaiiy  world  with  frequent  shocks. 

"Where  now  is  Titan,  with  his  cumbrous  brood, 

That  scared  the  world  ?  —  By  this  sharp  scythe  they  fell. 

And  half  the  sky  was  curdled  with  their  blood : 

So  have  all  primal  giants  sighed  farewell. 

No  Wardens  now  by  sedgy  fountains  dwell. 

Nor  jjearly  Naiads.     All  tlicir  dajs  are  done 

That  strove  with  Time,  untimely,  to  excel ; 

Wherefore  I  razed  then-  progenies,  and  none 

But  my  gi-eat  shadow  intercepts  the  sun ! " 


34  THE    I'LEA   OF 

Then  saith  the  timid  Fay,  "  O,  mighty  Time  ! 
"Well  hast  thou  wrought  the  cruel  Titans'  fall, 
For  they  were  stained  with  many  a  bloody  crime : 
Great  giants  work  gi-eat  wrongs,  —  but  we  are  small, 
For  Love  goes  lowly ;  —  but  Oppression's  tall, 
And  -with  sm-passing  strides  goes  foremost  still 
"VMiere  Love  indeed  can  hardly  reach  at  all ; 
like  a  poor  dwarf  o'erburthened  with  good  \^^ll, 
That  labors  to  efface  the  tracks  of  ill. 

"  Man  even  strives  with  Man,  but  we  eschev? 
The  guilty  feud,  and  all  fierce  strifes  abhor ; 
Nay,  we  are  gentle  as  sweet  heaven's  dew, 
Beside  the  red  and  horrid  di-ops  of  war, 
Weeping  the  cruel  hates  men  battle  for, 
Which  worldly  bosoms  nourish  in  our  spite : 
For  in  the  gentle  breast  we  ne'er  -withdraw, 
But  only  when  all  love  hath  taken  flight, 
And  youth's  warm  gracious  heart  is  hardened  quite. 

"  So  are  our  gentle  natures  intertwined 
With  sweet  humanities,  and  closely  knit 
In  kindly  s)-mpathy  with  human  kind. 
Witness  how  we  befriend,  with  ehin-wit, 
All  hopeless  maids  and  lovers,  —  nor  omit 
Magical  succors  vmto  hearts  forlorn  :  — 
We  charm  man's  life,  and  do  not  perish  it ;  — 
So  judge  us  by  the  helps  we  showed  tbLs  mom 
To  one  who  held  his  wretched  days  in  scorn. 

"  Twas  nigh  sweet  Amwell ;  —  for  the  Queen  had  tasked 
Our  skill  to-day  amid^  the  silver  Lea, 
Whereon  the  noontide  sun  had  not  yet  basked  ; 
Wherefore  some  patient  man  we  thought  to  see, 
Planted  in  moss-grown  ruehes  to  the  knee, 


THE    MIDSUMMER   FAIRIES.  35 

Beside  the  cloudy  margin  c»ld  and  dim  ;  — 
Howbeit  no  patient  fishermen  was  he 
That  cast  his  sudden  shadow  from  the  brim, 
^lalung  us  leave  our  toils  to  gaze  on  him. 

"  His  face  was  ashy  pale,  and  leaden  care 
Had  sunk  the  levelled  arches  of  his  brow, 
Once  bridges  for  liis  joyous  thoughts  to  fare 
Over  those  melancholy  springs  and  slow, 
That  fi-om  his  piteous  eyes  began  to  flow. 
And  fell  anon  into  the  chilly  stream  ; 
"Wliich,  as  his  mimicked  image  showed  below, 
Wrinkled  his  face  with  many  a  needless  seam, 
Making  grief  sadder  in  its  own  esteem. 

"  And,  lo !  upon  the  au-  we  saw  liim  stretch 
His  passionate  arms ;  and,  in  a  wapvard  strain, 
He  'gan  to  elegize  that  felloM'-\vretch 
That  vrith  mute  gestures  answered  him  again. 
Saving,  '  Poor  slave,  how  long  wilt  thou  remain 
Life's  sad  weak  captive  in  a  prison  strong. 
Hoping  with  tears  to  rust  away  thy  chain. 
In  bitter  ser\itudc  to  worldly  wrong  ?  — 
Thou  wear'st  that  mortal  Hvery  too  long ! ' 

"  This,  with  mere  spleenful  speeches  and  some  teai-s, 

When  he  had  spent  upon  the  imaged  wave, 

Speedily  I  convened  my  elfin  peers 

Under  the  lily-cups,  that  we  might  save 

This  woful  mortal  from  a  Arilfid  grave 

By  shrewd  diversions  of  his  mind's  regret. 

Seeing  he  was  mere  Melancholy's  slave. 

That  sank  wherever  a  dark  cloud  he  met. 

And  straight  ■was  tangled  in  her  secret  net. 


Ol) 


G  THE    PLEA    OF 


"  Therefore,  as  still  he  -watched  the  water's  flow, 

Daintily  we  transJ'ovmed,  and  ^vith  bright  fins 

Came  glancing  through  the  gloom ;  some  from  belo\v' 

Rose  lilvc  dim  fimcies  when  a  dream  begins, 

Snatching  the  light  upon  their  purple  skins ; 

Then  under  the  broad  leaves  made  slow  rc'tiie  ; 

One  like  a  golden  galley  bravely  mns 

Its  radiant  course,  —  another  glows  lilie  fire,  — 

jMaldng  that  waj^ward  man  om-  jjranks  adniu-e. 

"  And  so  he  banished  thought,  and  quite  forgot 

All  contemplation  of  that  wretched  face ; 

And  so  we  wiled  him  from  that  lonely  spot 

Along  the  river's  brink  ;  till,  by  Heaven's  grace, 

He  met  a  gentle  haunter  of  the  place, 

Full  of  sweet  Avisdom  gathered  from  the  brooks. 

Who  there  discussed  his  melancholy  case 

AVith  wholesome  texts  learned  from  kind  Nature's  books. 

Meanwhile  he  newly  trimmed  liis  lines  and  hooks." 

Herewith  the  Fairy  ceased.     Quoth  Ariel  now  — 
"  Let  me  remember  how  I  saved  a  man, 
Whose  fatal  noose  was  fastened  on  a  bough. 
Intended  to  abridge  his  sad  life's  span ; 
For  hajjly  I  Vv'as  by  when  he  began 
His  stem  soliloquy  in  life's  dispraise, 
And  overheard  his  melanchol}'  jilan, 
How  he  had  made  a  vow  to  end  his  days. 
And  therefore  followed  him  in  all  his  ways, 

"Tlu'ough  brake  and  tangled  copse,  for  much  he  loathed 
All  populous  haunts,  and  roamed  in  forests  rude, 
To  hide  himself  from  man.     But  I  had  clothed 
.^ly  delicate  liml)s  with  plumes,  and  still  pursued 
-.yhere  only  foxes  and  wild  cats  intrude. 


THE    MIDSUMMER    FAIRIES.  37 

Till  we  were  come  beside  an  ancient  tree 
Late  blasted  by  a  storm.     Here  he  renewed 
His  loud  complaints,  —  choosing  that  spot  to  be 
The  scene  of  his  last  horrid  tragedy. 

"  It  was  a  Avild  and  melancholy  glen, 
INIade  gloomy  by  tall  &-s  and  cypress  dark, 
Whose  roots,  like  any  bones  of  buried  men. 
Pushed  through  the  rotten  sod  for  fear's  remark ; 
A  hundred  horrid  stems,  jagged  and  stark, 
Wrestled  A\ith  crooked  arms  in  hideous  fray. 
Besides  sleek  ashes,  with  their  dappled  bark, 
Like  crafty  serpents  climbing  for  a  prey, 
With  many  blasted  oaks,  moss-grown  and  gray. 

"  But  here  upon  tliis  final  desperate  clause 

Suddenly  I  pronounced  so  sweet  a  strain. 

Like  a  panged  nightingale  it  made  him  pause. 

Till  half  the  frenzy  of  his  grief  was  slain. 

The  sad  remainder  oozing  from  his  brain 

In  timely  ecstasies  of  heaUng  tears, 

Which  through  his  ardent  eyes  began  to  drain ;  — 

iMeanwliile  the  deadly  fates  unclosed  theu"  shears  :  — 

So  pity  me  and  all  my  fated  peers !  " 

Thus  Ariel  ended,  and  was  some  time  hushed  : 
AYhcn  M'ith  the  hoary  shape  a  fresh  tongue  pleads, 
And  red  as  rose  the  gentle  Fairy  blushed 
To  read  the  record  of  her  own  good  deeds  :  — 
"  It  chanced,"  quoth  she, "  in  seeking  through  the  meads 
For  honeyed  cowslips,  sweetest  in  the  mom, 
Whilst  yet  the  buds  were  hung  \rith  dewy  beads, 
And  Echo  answered  to  the  huntsman's  horn, 
We  found  a  babe  left  in  the  swaths  forlorn. 
4 


38  'i'llE    TLEA    Oi" 

"  A  little,  sorrowful,  deserted  thing, 
Begot  of  love,  and  yet  no  love  begetting  ; 
Guiltless  of  shame,  and  yet  for  shame  to  wring ; 
And  too  soon  banished  fi-om  a  mother's  petting. 
To  chm-lish  nm-ture  and  the  wide  world's  fretting, 
For  alien  pity  and  imnatural  care  ;  — 
Alas  !  to  see  how  the  cold  dew  kept  wetting 
His  childish  coats,  and  dabbled  all  his  hair, 
Like  gossamers  across  his  forehead  fair. 

"  His  pretty,  pouting  mouth,  witless  of  speech, 
Lay  half-way  ojien,  like  a  rose-lipped  shell ; 
And  his  young  cheek  was  softer  than  a  peach. 
Whereon  his  tears,  for  roundness,  could  not  dwell, 
But  quickly  rolled  themselves  to  pearls,  and  fell, 
Some  on  the  grass,  and  some  against  his  hand, 
Or  haply  wandered  to  the  dimpled  well, 
Which  love  beside  his  mouth  had  sweetly  planned. 
Yet  not  for  tears,  but  mirth  and  smilings  bland. 

"  Pity  it  was  to  see  those  frequent  tears 
Falling  regardless  from  his  fiiendless  eyes  ; 
There  was  such  beauty  in  those  twin  blue  spheres. 
As  any  mother's  heart  might  leap  to  prize ; 
Blue  were  they,  like  the  zenith  of  the  skies 
Softened  betwixt  two  clouds,  both  clear-  and  mild  ;  - 
Just  touched  with  thought,  and  yet  not  over  wise, 
They  showed  the  gentle  spirit  of  a  child, 
Not  yet  by  care  or  any  craft  defiled. 

"  Pity  it  was  to  see  the  ardent  sun 

Scorching  his  helpless  limbs  —  it  shone  so  warm  ; 

For  kindly  shade  or  shelter  he  had  none. 

Nor  mother's  gentle  breast,  come  fair  or  storm. 

Meanwhile  I  bade  my  pitying  mates  transform 


THE    MIDSUMMEB.   FAIHIES.  39 

Like  grasshoppers,  and  then,  with  shrilly  cries, 
All  round  the  infant  noisily  we  swarm, 
Haply  some  passing  rustic  to  advise  — 
Whilst  pro\idfintial  Heaven  oui-  care  espies, 

"  And  sends  full  soon  a  tender-hearted  limd, 
Who,  wondering  at  om-  loud,  unusual  note. 
Strays  curiously  aside,  and  so  doth  find 
The  orphan  child  laid  in  the  grass  remote. 
And  laps  the  foundling  in  his  russet  coat. 
Who  thence  was  nurtured  in  his  kindly  cot :  — 
But  how  he  prospered  let  proud  London  quote, 
How  wise,  how  rich,  and  how  renowned  he  got, 
And  chief  of  all  her  citizens,  I  wot. 

"  Witness  his  goodly  vessels  on  the  Thames, 

Whose  holds  were  fraught  with  costly  merchandise,  — 

Jewels  from  Lid,  and  pearls  for  com-tly  dames, 

And  gorgeous  silks  that  Samarcand  supplies  : 

Witness  that  Roj-al  Bourse  he  bade  arise. 

The  mart  of  merchants  from  the  East  and  West  ; 

Whose  slender  summit,  pointing  to  the  skies, 

Still  bears,  in  token  of  his  grateful  breast, 

The  tender  grasshopper,  his  chosen  crest  — 

"  The  tender  grasshopper,  his  chosen  crest, 

That  all  the  summer,  with  a  tuneful  whig, 

Makes  merry  chirpings  in  its  grassy  nest, 

Inspirited  with  dew  to  leap  and  sing :  — 

So  let  us  also  live,  eternal  King ! 

Partakers  of  the  green  and  pleasant  earth  :  — 

Pity  it. is  to  slay  the  meanest  thing 

That,  Uke  a  mote,  shines  in  the  smile  of  mirth  :  — 

Enough  there  is  of  joy's  decrease  and  dearth  ] 


40  THE    PLEA    OF 

"  Enough  of  pleasure,  and  delight,  and  beautj-, 

Perished  and  gone,  and  hasting  to  decay ;  — 

Enough  to  sadden  even  thee,  whose  duty 

Or  spite  it  is  to  havoc  and  to  slay : 

Too  many  a  lovely  race,  razed  quite  away, 

Hath  left  large  gaps  in  life  and  human  lo-vdng :  — 

Here  then  begin  thy  cruel  war  to  stay, 

And  spare  fresh  sighs,  and  tears,  and  groans,  reproving 

Thy  desolating  hand  for  our  removing." 

Now  here  I  heard  a  shrill  and  sudden  cry. 

And  looking  up,  I  saw  the  antic  Puck 

Gra])j)ling  with  Time,  who  clutched  him  like  a  fly, 

Victim  of  his  own  sport,  —  the  jester's  luck  ! 

He,  Avhilst  his  fellows  grieved,  poor  wight,  had  stuck 

His  freakish  gauds  upon  the  Ancient's  brow, 

And  now  his  ear,  and  now  his  beard,  would  pluck  ; 

Whereas  the  angry  churl  liad  snatched  him  now, 

Crying,  '•  Thou  impish  miscliief^  who  art  thou  ?  " 

"  Alas  ! "  quoth  Puck,  "  a  little  random  elf, 
Born  in  the  sport  of  nature,  Hke  a  weed. 
For  simple,  sweet  enjoyment  of  myself, 
But  for  no  other  purpose,  Avorth,  or  need  ; 
And  yet  withal  of  a  most  happy  breed  ; 
And  there  is  Robin  Goodfeliow  besides. 
My  partner  dear  in  many  a  ])rankish  deed 
To  make  dame  Laughter  hold  her  jolly  sides, 
Lilie  merry  mummers  twain  on  holy  tides. 

"  'TIs  we  that  bob  the  angler's  idle  cork, 
Till  even  the  patient  man  breathes  half  a  curse  ; 
We  steal  the  morsel  fi-om  the  gossip's  fork, 
-And  curdling  looks  with  secret  straws  disperse. 
Or  stop  the  sneezing  chanter  at  mid  verse  : 


THE    MIDSUMMER    FAIEIES.  41 

And  when  an  infant's  beauty  prospers  ill, 

"VYe  change,  some  mothers  say,  the  child  at  nurse  ; 

But  any  graver  pui-pose  to  fulfil. 

We  have  not  mt  enough,  and  scarce  the  will. 

«  We  never  let  the  canker  melancholy 

To  gather  on  our  faces  like  a  rust, 

But  gloss  our  features  with  some  change  of  folly, 

Taking  life's  fabled  miseries  on  trust. 

But  only  sorrowing  when  sorrow  must : 

We  ruminate  no  sage's  solemn  cud, 

But  own  ourselves  a  pinch  of  lively  dust 

To  frisk  upon  a  wind,  —  whereas  the  flood 

Of  tears  would  turn  us  into  heavy  mud. 

"  Bcshrew  those  sad  interpreters  of  natm-e, 

Who  gloze  her  Uvely,  universal  law, 

Asif  she  had  not  formed  our  cheerful  feature 

To  be  so  tickled  with  the  slightest  straw ! 

So  let  them  vex  theu-  mumping  mouths,  and  draw 

The  comers  downward,  like  a  watery  moon, 

And  deal  in  gusty  sighs  and  rainy  flaw  — 

We  will  not  woo  foul  weather  all  too  soon, 

Or  nurse  November  on  the  lap  of  June. 

"  For  ours  are  mnging  sprites,  like  any  bird, 
That  shun  all  stagnant  settlements  of  grief; 
And  even  in  om-  rest  oui-  hearts  are  stirred, 
Like  insects  settled  on  a  dancing  leaf:  — 
This  is  our  small  jthilosophy  in  brief. 
Which  thus  to  teach  hath  set  me  all  agape : 
But  dost  thou  relish  it  ?     O,  hoary  chief! 
Unclasp  thy  crooked  fingers  from  my  nape, 
And  I  vnil  show  thee  many  a  pleasant  scrape," 
4* 


42  THE    PLEA    OP 

Then  Saturn  thus  :  —  shaking  his  crooked  blade 
O'erhead,  wliich  made  aloft  a  lightning  flash 
In  all  the  fairies'  eyes,  dismally  frayed  ! 
His  ensuing  voice  came  like  the  thunder  crash  — 
ISIeanwhile  the  bolt  shatters  some  pine  or  ash  — 
"  Thou  feeble,  wanton,  foolish,  fickle  thing  ! 
Whom  nought  can  frighten,  sadden,  or  abash,  — 
To  hope  my  solemn  countenance  to  wring 
To  idiot  smiles  !  —  but  I  will  prune  thy  wing  ! 

"  Lo  !  this  most  awful  handle  of  my  scythe 
Stood  once  a  Maj-pole,  Avith  a  flowery  crowTi, 
Which  rustics  danced  around,  and  maidens  blithe, 
To  wanton  pipings  ;  —  but  I  plucked  it  down. 
And  robed  the  May  Queen  in  a  church-yard  gown, 
Turning  her  buds  to  rosemary  and  rue  ; 
And  all  their  merry  minstrelsy  did  drown, 
And  laid  each  lusty  leaper  in  the  dew ;  — 
So  thou  shalt  fai-e  —  and  every  jovial  crew ! " 

Here  he  lets  go  the  struggling  imp,  to  clutch 
His  mortal  engine  with  each  grisly  hand. 
Which  frights  the  elfin  progeny  so  much. 
They  huddle  in  a  heap,  and  trembling  stand 
All  round  Titania,  lilie  the  queen  bee's  band, 
With  sighs  and  tears  and  very  shrieks  of  woe !  — 
Meanwhile,  some  moving  argument  I  planned, 
To  make  the  stern  Shade  merciful,  —  when,  lo ! 
He  drops  his  fatal  scythe  without  a  blow ! 

For,  just  at  need,  a  timely  Apparition 
Steps  in  between,  to  bear  the  awful  brunt ; 
Making  him  change  his  horrible  position, 
To  marvel  at  this  comer,  brave  and  blunt, 
That  dares  Time's  irresistible  affi-ont, 


THE   MIDSUMMER    FAIRIES.  43 

Whose  strokes  have  scarred  even  the  gods  of  old ;  — 
Whereas  this  seemed  a  mortal,  at  mere  hunt 
For  conies,  lighted  by  the  moonsliine  cold, 
Or  stalker  of  stray  deer,  stealthy  and  bold. 

Who,  turning  to  the  small  assembled  fays, 
DofFs  to  the  lily  queen  his  courteous  cap, 
And  holds  her  beauty  for  a  while  in  gaze. 
With  bright  eyes  kmdling  at  this  pleasant  hap ; 
And  thence  upon  the  fair  moon's  silver  map, 
As  if  in  question  of  this  magic  chance, 
Laid  like  a  di-eam  upon  the  green  earth's  lap ; 
And  then  upon  old  Satm-n  turns  askance, 
Exclaimmg,  with  a  glad  and  kindly  glance  :  — 

"  O,  these  be  Fancy's  revellers  by  night ! 
Stealthy  companions  of  the  downy  moth  — 
Diana's  motes,  that  flit  in  her  pale  light, 
Shunners  of  Sunbeams  in  diurnal  sloth  ;  — 
These  be  the  feasters  on  night's  silver  cloth,  — 
The  gnat  with  shrilly  trump  is  their  convener, 
Forth  from  their  flowery  chambers,  notliing  loth. 
With  lulling  tunes  to  charm  the  air  serener, 
Or  dance  upon  the  grass  to  make  it  greener. 

"  These  be  the  pretty  genii  of  the  flowers, 

Daintily  fed  \vith  honey  and  pure  dew  — 

jNIidsummer's  phantoms  in  her  dreaming  hours. 

King  Oberon  and  all  his  merry  crew. 

The  darling  puppets  of  romance's  ^^ew ; 

Fairies,  and  sprites,  and  gobHn  elves,  we  call  them, 

Famous  for  patronage  of  lovers  true  ;  — 

No  harm  they  act,  neither  shall  harm  befall  them. 

So  do  not  thus  with  crabbed  frowns  appall  them." 


44  THE    PLEA    OF 

O,  what  a  cry  was  Saturn's  then !  —  it  made 

The  fairies  ([uake.     "  What  care  I  for  then-  pranks, 

However  they  may  lovers  choose  to  aid, 

Or  dance  their  roundelays  on  flowery  banks  ?  — 

Long  must  they  dance  before  they  eai'n  my  thanks,  ■ 

So  step  aside,  to  some  far  safer  spot, 

Whilst  with  ni}-  hungry  scythe  I  mow  their  ranks. 

And  leave  them  in  the  sun,  like  weeds,  to  rot, 

And  with  the  next  day's  sun  to  be  forgot." 

Anon,  he  raised  afi'esh  his  weapon  keen ; 
But  still  the  gracious  Shade  disarmed  his  aim, 
Step25ing  with  brave  alacrity  between. 
And  made  his  sere  arm  powerless  and  tame. 
His  be  perpetual  glory,  for  the  shame 
Of  hoary  Satuiia  in  that  grand  defeat !  — 
But  I  must  tell  how  here  Titania  came 
With  all  her  kneeling  lieges,  to  entreat 
His  kindly  succor,  in  sad  tones,  but  sweet. 

Sajing,  "  Thou  seest  a  WTetched  queen  before  thee, 

The  fading  power  of  a  failing  land, 

Who  for  her  kingdom  laieeleth  to  implore  thee, 

Now  menaced  by  this  tyrant's  spoiling  hand ; 

No  one  but  thee  can  hopefully  withstand 

That  crooked  blade,  he  longeth  so  to  lift. 

I  pray  thee  blind  him  with  his  o^^^l  \dle  sand, 

Which  only  times  all  ruins  by  its  drift, 

Or  prune  his  eagle  wings  that  are  so  swift. 

"  Or  take  him  by  that  sole  and  grizzled  tuft 
That  hangs  upon  his  bald  and  barren  crown ; 
And  we  will  sing  to  see  him  so  rebuffed. 
And  lend  our  little  mights  to  pull  him  down, 
And  make  brave  sport  of  liis  malicious  frown. 


THE    MIDSUMMER   FAIHIES.  45 

For  all  his  boastful  mockery  o'er  men. 
For  thou  wast  born,  I  know,  for  this  renown, 
By  my  most  magical  and  inward  ken,     • 
That  readeth  even  at  Fate's  forestalling  pen. 

"  Nay,  by  the  golden  lustre  of  tliine  eye, 
And  by  thy  brow's  most  fail-  and  ample  span, 
Thoiiiijht's  glorious  palace,  framed  for  fancies  high, 
And  by  thy  cheek  thus  passionately  wan, 
I  know  the  signs  of  an  immortal  man,  — 
Nature's  chief  darling,  an  illustrious  mate, 
Destined  to  foil  old  Death's  obU^ious  plan, 
And  shine  untarnished  by  the  fogs  of  Fate, 
Time's  famous  rival  till  the  final  date  ! 

"  O,  shield  us,  then,  from  this  usurping  Time, 
And  we  will  visit  thee  in  moonUght  dreams  ; 
And  teach  thee  tunes,  to  wed  unto  thy  rhyme, 
And  dance  about  thee  in  all  midnight  gleams, 
Giving  thee  glimpses  of  our  magic  schemes. 
Such  as  no  mortal's  eye  hath  ever  seen ; 
And,  for  thy  love  to  us  in  our  extremes. 
Will  ever  keep  thy  chajjlot  fresh  and  green, 
Such  as  no  poet's  ^vTcath  hath  ever  been  ! 

"  And  we'll  distil  thee  aromatic  dews. 

To  charm  thy  sense,  when  there  shall  be  no  flowers  : 

And  flavored  sirups  in  thy  drinks  infuse. 

And  teach  the  nightingale  to  haunt  thy  bowers. 

And  with  our  games  divert  thy  weariest  hours, 

With  all  that  elfin  wits  can  e'er  de\ise. 

And,  this  churl  dead,  there'll  be  no  hasting  hours 

To  rob  thee  of  thy  joys,  as  now  joy  flies  :  "  — 

Here  she  was  stopped  by  Saturn's  ftirious  cries. 


46  THE    PLEA    OF 

Whom,  therefore,  the  kind  Shade  rebukes  anew, 
Saying,  "  Thou  haggard  Sin,  go  forth,  and  scoop 
Thy  hollow  coffin  in  some  church-yard  yew. 
Or  make  the  autumnal  flowers  turn  pale,  and  droop 
Or  fell  the  bearded  corn,  till  gleaners  stoop 
Under  fat  sheaves,  —  or  blast  the  piny  grove  :  — 
But  here  thou  shalt  not  harm  this  pretty  group, 
Whose  lives  are  not  so  frail  and  feebly  wove, 
But  leased  on  Nature's  loveliness  and  love. 

"  'Tis  these  that  free  the  small  entangled  fly, 
Caught  in  the  venomed  spider's  crafty  snare  ;  — 
These  be  the  petty  surgeons  that  apply 
The  healing  balsams  to  the  wounded  hare, 
Bedded  in  bloody  fern,  no  creature's  care  !  — 
These  be  providers  for  the  orphan  brood, 
Whose  tender  mother  hath  been  slain  in  air, 
Quitting  -nith  gaping  bill  her  darlings'  food, 
Hard  by  the  verge  of  her  domestic  wood. 

"  'TIS  these  befriend  the  timid  trembling  stag, 
When,  Avith  a  biu-sting  heart  beset  with  fears, 
He  feels  his  sa\ing  sj^eed  begin  to  flag ; 
For  then  they  quench  the  fatal  taint  with  tears. 
And  prompt  fresh  shifts  in  his  alarumed  ears, 
So  piteously  they  \iew  all  bloody  morts  ; 
Or  if  the  gunner,  Avith  his  arm,  appears, 
Like  noisy  pyes  and  jays,  with  harsh  reports. 
They  warn  the  wild  fowl  of  his  deadly  sjDorts. 

"  For  these  are  kindly  ministers  of  nature, 
To  soothe  all  covert  hurts  and  dumb  distress  ; 
Pretty  they  be,  and  very  small  of  stature,  — 
For  mercy  still  consorts  with  littleness ; 


THE    MIDSUMMER   FAIRIES.  47 


Wherefore  the  sura  of  good  is  still  the  less, 

And  mischief  grossest  in  this  world  of  Mrong  ;  — 

So  do  these  charitable  dwarfs  redress 

The  ten-fold  ravages  of  giants  strong, 

To  whom  great  malice  and  great  might  belong. 

"  Likewise  to  them  are  Poets  much  beholden 
For  secret  favors  in  the  midnight  glooms  ; 
Brave  Spenser  quaffed  out  of  theh  goblets  golden, 
And  saw  their  tables  spread  of  prompt  mushrooms, 
And  heard  then:  honis  of  honeysuckle  blooms 
Sounchng  upon  the  air  most  soothing  soft, 
Like  humming  bees  busy  about  the  brooms,  — 
And  glanced  this  fair  queen's  witchery  full  oft, 
And  in  her  magic  wain  soared  far  aloft. 

"  Nay,  I  myself,  though  mortal,  once  was  nursed 

By  fairy  gossips,  friendly  at  my  birth, 

And  in  my  childish  ear  glib  IMab  rehearsed 

Her  breezy  travels  round  our  planet's  girth, 

Telling  me  wonders  of  the  moon  and  earth  ; 

My  gramarye  at  her  grave  lap  I  conned, 

Where  Puck  hath  been  convened  to  make  me  mirth ; 

I  have  had  from  Queen  Titania  tokens  fond, 

And  toyed  with  Oberon's  permitted  wand. 

"  With  figs  and  plums  and  Persian  dates  they  fed  me, 
And  delicate  cates  after  my  sunset  meal. 
And  took  me  by  my  childish  hand,  and  led  me 
By  craggy  rocks  crested  with  keeps  of  steel. 
Whose  awful  bases  deep  dark  woods  conceal. 
Staining  some  dead  lake  with  their  verdant  dyes : 
And  when  the  West  sparkled  at  Phoebus'  wheel. 
With  fairy  euphrasy  they  purged  mine  eyes. 
To  let  me  see  their  cities  in  the  slues. 


48  THE    PLEA    OF 

"  'Twas  they  first  schooled  my  yoimg  imagination 
To  take  its  ilights  like  any  new-Hedged  bird, 
And  showed  the  span  of  winged  meditation 
Stretched  wider  than  tilings  grossly  seen  or  heard. 
With  sweet  swift  Ariel  how  I  soared  and  stirred 
The  fragrant  blooms  of  spiritual  bowers ! 
'Twas  they  endeared  wliat  I  have  still  preferred, 
Natm-e's  blest  attributes  and  balmy  powers, 
Her  liills  and  vales  and  brooks,  sweet  birds  and  floweri- 

"  Wherefore  with  all  true  loyalty  and  duty 

Will  I  regard  them  in  my  honoring  rhyme, 

With  love  for  love,  and  homages  to  beauty, 

And  magic  thoughts  gathered  in  night's  cool  clime, 

AVith  studious  verse  trancing  the  dragon  Time, 

Strong  as  old  Merlin's  necromantic  spells  ; 

So  these  dear  monarchs  of  the  summer's  prime 

Shall  live  unstartled  by  his  dreadful  j'ells, 

Till  shrill  larks  warn  them  to  then-  flowery  cells." 

Look  how  a  poisoned  man  turns  livid  black, 
Drugged  with  a  cup  of  deadly  hellebore, 
That  sets  his  horrid  features  all  at  rack, — 
So  seemed  these  words  into  the  ear  to  pour 
Of  ghastly  Saturn,  answering  with  a  roar 
Of  mortal  pain  and  spite  and  utmost  rage. 
Wherewith  his  grisly  arm  he  raised  once  more. 
And  bade  the  clustered  sinews  all  engage. 
As  if  at  one  fell  stroke  to  wreck  an  age. 


'-D^ 


Whereas  the  blade  flashed  on  the  dinted  ground, 
Down  through  his  steadfast  foe,  yet  made  no  scar 
On  that  immortal  Shade,  or  death-like  wound ; 
But  Time  was  long  benvmibed,  and  stood  ajar, 
And  then  with  baffled  rage  look  flight  afar. 


THE    MIDSUMMER   FAIBIES.  49 

To  weep  his  hurt  in  some  Cimmerian  gloom, 
Or  meaner  fames  (like  mine)  to  mock  and  mar, 
Or  sharp  his  scythe  for  royal  strokes  of  doom, 
Whetting  its  edge  on  som(>  old  Caesar's  tomb. 

Howbeit  he  vanished  in  the  forest  shade. 
Distantly  heard,  as  if  some  gnmibling  pard. 
And,  like  Narcissus,  to  a  somid  decayed ;  — 
Meanwhile  the  fays  clustered  the  g)-acious  Bard, 
The  darling  centre  of  their  dear  regard : 
Besides  of  sundry  dances  on  the  green, 
Never  was  mortal  man  so  brightly  starred. 
Or  won  such  pretty  homages,  I  ween. 
"  Nod  to  him,  Elves !  "  cries  the  melodious  queen. 

"  Nod  to  him,  Elves,  and  flutter  round  about  liim, 
And  quite  enclose  him  with  your  pretty  crowd. 
And  touch  him  lovingly,  for  that,  without  liim. 
The  silk-worm  now  had  spun  our  dreary  slu-oud ;  — 
But  he  hath  all  dispersed  death's  tearful  cloud, 
And  Time's  dread  effigy  scared  quite  away : 
Bow  to  him,  then,  as  though  to  me  ye  bowed, 
And  his  dear  wishes  prosper  and  obey 
Wherever  love  and  wit  can  find  a  way ! 

"  'Noint  liim  ^vith  £iiry  dews  of  magic  savors, 
Shaken  from  orient  buds  still  pearly  wet, 
Roses  and  spicy  pinks, — and,  of  all  favors, 
Plant  in  his  walks  the  pui-ple  violet, 
And  meadow-sweet  under  the  hedges  set, 
To  mingle  breaths  with^daintj-  eglantine 
And  honeysuckles  sweet,  —  nor  yet  forget 
Some  pastoral  flowery  chaplets  to  entA\ine, 
To  \ie  the  thoughts  about  his  brow  benign. 
5 


50  TTTH    PT.-F.t    O? 

"  Let  no  wild  tilings  aatoufsli  Mm.  or  fear  Hm, 
Bat  teE  "'  "^         '     :  la  of  heart, 

'lill  e'en.  "__  -      -  -"kly  near  hrm^ 

\nA  ekjE  the  dappled  dn^.  yet  nerer  start ; 
Jf or  sliall  thsr  lawiH  rDio  the  tfrfritfts  daz^ 
>-_  — •—    - —  V  ■;  -■-  —_-  -  ■  -    ---  -^  t±e  leares, 
-■        .  -^2rt;  — 

But  bid.  tte  sacred  swuEkrw  liannC  ti»  ea^es^ 
To  gnard.  Lia  roof  from.  Tt^Ii  t.nin.^  stnii  feo-m  diie»ea. 

"  Or  when,  he  goes  the  nimble  sqaitreFs  -tistesE^ 
Let  the  browa  hetuut,  bring  his  hoaided  ns£s» 
For,  tell  '.  ■       ~'\    V  ^' .  -    ;  ■    '-  :r  '  !r.  TjiatoCr  — 
ThoTisk  -.  .  -:  coaacience  dnitH. 

For  conacicsas  -wroiig  all  corkstia  qiiest  rebota, — 
'Sot  yet  shall  bees  uncase  tiie"l"  ;  strngs, 

"Which,  he  will  hint  most  a^y  wt ;  -^■■-•' 

Hare  ^le  leases  ; .;  ^ith.  a  gracefiil  hand 

Waves  thnce  three  aplaidid  eircles  roand  hfa  headj 
"Which,  thotigh.  deser*  " 

"^■erirs  .*t£Il  the  .glory  '.  _,._  _  _       :  .^ 

."^L-cc  as  erst  cro'wiied  the  old  . ._  .   ^d ; 

To  show  the  thon^its  there  hajfaored  were  dmne, 

Arotmd  a  brow  so  lofty  and  beragn  ?  — 

Goodly  k  was  to  see  '^-'^ 

Contend  &r  kLsses  of  . 

That  had  tieir  mortal  eiemy  withstoed. 

And  sta-    '  "  '  '    . 

XtnagWL^ _,  .^__.^  :„;  -:..-,    -  — -. 


THE    MIDSUMMER   FAIRIES.  51 

15  .t  now  bold  Clianticleer,  from  farm  to  form, 
Cliallenj^cd  the  dawn  creeping  o'er  eastern  land, 
And  well  the  fairies  knew  that  shrill  alarm, 
Which  sounds  the  knoll  of  every  elfish  chai'm. 

And  soon  the  rolling  mist,  that  'gan  arise 
From  plashy  mead  and  undiscovered  stream, 
Ivirth's  morning  incense  to  the  early  skies, 
Crept  o'er  the  failing  landscajje  of  my  dream. 
Soon  fiided  then  the  Phantom  of  my  theme  — 
A  shapeless  shade,  that  fancy  disavowed. 
And  shrank  to  nothing  in  the  mist  extreme. 
Then  flew  Titania, — and  her  little  crowd. 
Like  Hocking  linnets,  vanished  in  a  cloud. 


u-srx©'^^^©X~^-^ 


HERO   AND   LEANDER. 


•    5 


(53) 


TO  S.  T.  COLERIDGE. 

It  is  not  with  a  hope  my  feeble  praise 
Can  add  one  moment's  honor  to  thy  own, 
That  with  thy  mighty  name  I  grace  these  lays ; 
I  seek  to  glorify  myself  alone  ; 
For  that  some  precious  favor  thou  hast  shown 
To  my  endeavor  in  a  bygone  time, 
And  by  this  token  I  would  have  it  luiown 
Thou  art  my  friend,  and  friendly  to  my  rhjTiie ! 
It  is  my  dear  ambition  now  to  climb 
Still  higher  in  thy  thought,  —  if  my  bold  pen 
May  tlu-ust  on  contemplations  more  sublime.  — 
But  I  am  thksty  for  thy  praise,  for  when 
We  gain  applauses  from  the  great  in  name, 
We  seem  to  be  partakers  of  their  fame. 

(54) 


HERO  AND  LEANDER. 


O  Bards  of  old !  what  sorrows  have  ye  sung, 
And  tragic  stories,  chronicled  in  stone,  — 
Sad  Philomel  restored  her  ra\ished  tongue, 
And  transformed  Niobe  in  dumbness  shown  ; 
Sweet  Sappho  on  her  love  forever  calls, 
And  Hero  on  the  di-owned  Leander  falls. 

Was  it  that  spectacles  of  sadder  plights 
Should  make  our  blisses  relish  the  more  high  ? 
Then  all  fair  dames,  and  maidens,  and  true  knights, 
Whose  flourished  fortunes  prosper  in  Love's  eye, 
Weep  here,  unto  a  tale  of  ancient  grief, 
Traced  from  the  course  of  an  old  bas-relief. 

There  stands  Abydos !  —  here  is  Sestos'  steep, 
Hard  by  the  gusty  margin  of  the  sea. 
Where  sprmkling  waves  continually  do  leap  5 
And  that  is  where  those  famous  lovers  be, 
A  builded  gloom  shot  up  into  the  gray. 
As  if  the  first  tall  watch-tower  of  the  day. 

Lo !  how  the  lark  soars  upward  and  is  gone ! 

Turning  a  sphit  as  he  nears  the  sky. 

His  voice  is  heard,  though  body  there  is  none. 

And  rain-like  music  scatters  from  on  high  ; 

But  Love  would  follow  with  a  falcon  spite. 

To  pluck  the  minstrel  from  his  dewy  height. 

(55) 


56  HEEO    AND    LEANDEK. 

For  Love  hath  fi-amed  a  ditty  of  regrets, 
Tuned  to  the  hollow  sobbings  on  the  shore, 
A  vexing  sense,  that  -with  like  music  frets, 
And  chimes  this  dismal  bmthen  o'er  and  o'er. 
Saying,  lieander's  joys  are  past  and  silent, 
Like  stai's  extinguished  m  the  fii-mament. 

For  ere  the  golden  crevices  of  mom 

Let  in  those  regal  luxmies  of  light, 

WTiich  all  the  variable  east  adorn, 

And  haug  rich  fringes  on  the  sldi-ts  of  night, 

Leander,  weaning  from  sweet  Hero's  side. 

Must  leave  a  widow  where  he  found  a  bride. 

Hark  !  how  the  billows  beat  upon  the  sand  ! 
Like  pawing  steeds,  impatient  of  delay ; 
Meanwhile  their  rider,  Hngering  on  the  land. 
Dallies  ^\ith  Love,  and  holds  farewell  at  bay 
A  too  short  span.  —  How  tedious  slow  is  grief ! 
But  parting  renders  time  both  sad  and  brief. 

"  Alas !  (he  sighed)  that  this  first  glimpsing  light. 

Which  makes  the  wide  woiid  tenderly  appear, 

Should  be  the  bmTiing  signal  for  my  flight, 

From  all  the  world's  best  image,  which  is  here ; 

AVhose  very  shadow,  in  my  fond  compare, 

Sliines  far  more  bright  than  Beauty's  self  elsewhere." 

Their  cheeks  are  white  as  blossoms  of  the  dark. 
Whose  leaves  close  up,  and  show  the  outward  pale. 
And  those  fair  mirrors  where  their  joys  did  spark, 
All  dim  and  tarnished  with  a  dreary  veil, 
No  more  to  kindle  till  the  night's  retm-n. 
Like  stars  replenished  at  Joy's  golden  m-n. 


HERO    AND    LEANDER.  57 

Even  thus  they  creep  into  the  spectral  gray, 
That  cramps  the  landscape  m  its  naiTOW  brim, 
As  when  two»  shadows  by  old  Lethe  stray, 
He  claspmg  her,  and  she  entwining  him  ; 
Like  trees  -w-ind-parted  that  embrace  anon. 
True  love  so  often  goes  before  'tis  gone. 

For  what  rich  merchant  but  ahU  pause  in  fear. 
To  trust  liis  wealth  to  the  unsafe  abyss  ? 
So  Hero  dotes  upon  her  treasm-e  here, 
And  sums  the  loss  with  many  an  anxious  kiss, 
Wliilst  her  fond  eyes  grow  dizzy  in  her  head. 
Fear  aggravatmg  fear  with  shows  of  di'ead. 

She  thinks  how  many  have  been  sunlt  and  drovraed, 
And  spies  their  snow-wliite  bones  below  the  deep, 
Then  calls  huge  congregated  monsters  romid, 
And  plants  a  rock  wherever  he  would  leap  ; 
Anon  she  dwells  on  a  fantastic  dream. 
Which  she  interprets  of  that  fatal  stream 

Sajing,  "  That  honeyed  fly  I  saw  was  thee. 
Which  lighted  on  a  water-Hly's  cup, 
When,  lo !  the  flower,  enamoiured  of  my  bee, 
Closed  on  him  suddenly,  and  locked  him  up, 
And  he  was  smothered  in  her  drenching  dew ; 
Therefore  this  day  thy  di-owning  I  shall  rue." 

But  next,  remembering  her  mgin  fame. 

She  clips  liim  in  her  arms,  and  bids  him  gOy 

But  seeing  him  break  loose  repents  her  shame, 

And  plucks  him  back  upon  her  bosom's  snow  ; 

And  tears  unfix  her  iced  resolve  again. 

As  steadfast  frosts  are  thawed  by  showers  of  rain. 


58  HERO    AND    LEANDER. 

O  for  a  tj-pe  of  parting  !  —  Love  to  love 
Is  like  the  fond  attraction  of  two  spheres, 
Wliich  needs  a  godlike  effort  to  remove,    • 
And  then  sink  down  theii'  sunny  atmospheres 
In  rain  and  darkness  on  each  ruined  heart. 
Nor  yet  theii-  melodies  will  somid  apart. 

So  brave  Leander  sunders  from  his  bride  ; 

The  A^Tenching  pang  disparts  his  soul  in  twain  ; 

Half  stays  with  her,  half  goes  towards  the  tide. 

And  hfe  must  ache  until  they  join  again. 

Now  wouldst  thou  know  the  wideness  of  the  wound. 

Mete  every  step  he  takes  upon  the  gromad. 

And  for  the  agony  and  bosom-throe. 

Let  it  be  measured  by  the  wide  vast  air. 

For  that  is  infinite,  and  so  is  woe. 

Since  parted  lovers  breathe  it  every  where. 

Look  how  it  heaves  Leander's  laboring  chest, 

Panting,  at  poise,  upon  a  rocky  crest ! 

From  which  he  leaps  into  the  scooping  brine, 
That  shocks  his  bosom  with  a  double  chill ; 
Because,  all  hours,  till  the  slow  sun's  decline. 
That  cokrdivorcer  will  betwixt  them  stUl ; 
Wherefore  he  likens  it  to  Styx'  foul  tide. 
Where  life  grows  death  upon  the  other  side. 

Then  sadly  he  confronts  liis  two-fold  toil 
Against  rude  wa-«es  and  an  imwilling  mind. 
Wishing,  alas  !  with  the  stout  rower's  toil, 
That  like  a  rower  he  might  gaze  behind. 
And  watch  that  lonely  statue  he  hath  left 
On  her  bleak  summit,  weeping  and  bereft ! 


HERO    AXD    LEANDER.  59 

Yet  turning  oft,  he  sees  her  troubled  locks 
Pursue  him  still  the  fuilhest  that  they  may ; 
Her  marble  arms  that  overstretch  the  rocks, 
And  her  pale  passioned  hands  that  seem  to  pray 
In  dumb  petition  to  the  gods  above  : 
Love  prays  devoutly  when  it  prays  for  love ! 

Then  A^ith  deep  sighs  he  blows  away  the  wave, 
That  hangs  superfluous  tears  upon  his  cheek. 
And  bans  his  labor  like  a  hopeless  slave, 
That,  chained  in  hostile  galley,  faint  and  weak, 
PHes  on  despairing  thi-ough  the  restless  foam, 
Thoughtful  of  his  lost  love,  and  far-ofi"  home. 

The  drowsy  mist  before  him  chiU  and  dank. 

Like  a  duU  lethargy  o'erleans  the  sea, 

When  he  rows  on  against  the  utter  blank 

Steering  as  if  to  dim  eternity,  — 

Like  Love's  frail  ghost  departing  with  the  dawn ; 

A  failing  shadow  in  the  twilight  dl•a^\'n. 


'o 


And  soon  is  gone,  —  or  nothing  but  a  faint 
And  failing  image  in  the  eye  of  thought ; 
That  mocks  his  model  with  an  after-paint, 
And  stains  an  atom  like  the  shape  she  sought ; 
Then  with  her  earnest  vows  she  hopes  to  fee 
The  old  and  hoary  majesty  of  sea. 

"  O  King  of  waves,  and  brother  of  high  Jove, 
Preserve  my  sumless  venture  there  afloat ; 
A  woman's  heart,  and  its  whole  wealth  of  love, 
Are  all  embarked  upon  that  little  boat ; 
Nay,  but  two  loves,  two  lives,  a  double  fate 
A  perilous  voyage  for  so  deai-  a  freight. 


60  HERO    AND   LEAJfDEE. 

"  If  impious  mariners  be  stained  with  crime, 
Shake  not  in  awful  rage  thy  hoary  locks ; 
Lay  by  thy  storms  mitil  another  time, 
Lest  my  frail  bark  be  clashed  against  the  rocks  : 
Or  rather  smooth  thy  deeps  that  he  may  fiy 
Like  Love  himself,  upon  a  seeming  sky ! 

"  Let  all  thy  herded  monsters  sleep  beneath, 

Nor  gore  him  with  crooked  tusks,  or  wreathe'd  horns  ; 

Let  no  fierce  sharks  destroy  him  ydth  their  teeth. 

Nor  spine-fish  wound  him  with  their  venomed  thorns  ; 

But  if  he  faint,  and  timely  succor  lack, 

Let  ruthful  dolphins  rest  him  on  their  back. 

"  Let  no  false  dimpling  whirlpools  suck  him  in, 
Nor  slimy  quicksands  smother  his  sweet  breath ; 
Let  no  jagged  corals  tear  his  tender  skin. 
Nor  movmtain  billows  bury  him  in  death  ; "  — 
And  ^vith  that  thought  forestalling  her  own  fears, 
She  drowned  his  painted  image  in  her  tears. 

By  this,  the  climbing  sun,  with  rest  repau'ed. 
Looked  through  the  gold  embrasures  of  the  sky, 
And  asked  the  drowsy  world  how  she  had  fared;  — 
The  drowsy  world  shone  brightened  in  reply ; 
And  smiling  off  her  fogs,  his  slanting  beam 
Spied  young  Leander  in  the  middle  stream. 

His  face  was  pallid,  but  the  hectic  mom' 
Had  hung  a  lying  crimson  on  his  cheeks, 
And  slanderous  sparkles  in  his  eyes  forlorn ; 
So  death  Hes  ambushed  in  consumptive  streaks ; 
But  inward  grief  was  wi-ithing  o'er  its  task. 
As  heart-sick  jesters  weep  behind  the  mask. 


HERO    AND    LEANDER.  fij 

He  thought  of  Hero  and  the  lost  delight, 
Her  last  embracmgs,  and  the  space  between ; 
He  thought  of  Hero  and  the  futui-e  night, 
Her  speechless  rapture  and  enamoui'ed  mien, 
When,  lo !  before  him,  scarce  two  galleys'  space, 
His  thoughts  confronted  with  another  face  ! 

Her  aspect's  like  a  moon  di^•inely  fair, 
But  makes  the  midnight  darker  that  it  lies  on ; 
Tis  so  beclouded  with  her  coal-black  hah* 
That  densely  skirts  her  luminous  horizon, 
Making  her  doubly  fan,  thus  darkly  set, 
As  marble  lies  advantaged  upon  jet. 

She's  all  too  bright,  too  argent,  and  too  pale, 

To  be  a  woman  ;  —  but  a  woman's  double. 

Reflected  on  the  wave  so  faint  and  frail. 

She  tops  the  billows  like  an  ah-blown  bubble ; 

Or  dim  creation  of  a  morning  di-eam, 

Fair  as  the  wave-bleached  lily  of  the  sti-eam. 

The  ver}'  mmor  strikes  his  seeing  dead  : 

Great  beauty  hke  great  fear  first  stuns  the  sense  : 

He  knows  not  if  her  lips  be  blue  or  red. 

Nor  of  her  eyes  can  give  true  e^^dence : 

Like  mm-dcr's  witness  swooning  in  the  court, 

His  sight  falls  senseless  by  its  own  report. 

Anon  resuming,  it  declares  her  eyes 
Are  tinct  with  azure,  like  two  crystal  wells 
That  drink  the  blue  complexion  of  the  skies, 
Or  pearls  out-peepmg  from  their  silvery  shells : 
Her  polished  brow,  it  is  an  arajjlc  plain. 
To  lodge  vast  contemplations  of  the  main. 
6 


62  HERO    AND    LEANDEE. 

Her  lips  might  corals  seem,  but  corals  near, 
Stray  through  her  hau-  like  blossoms  on  a  bower ; 
And  o'er  the  weaker  red  still  domineer, 
And  make  it  pale  by  tribute  to  more  power ; 
Her  rounded  cheeks  are  of  still  jmler  hue, 
Touched  by  the  bloom  of  water,  tender  blue. 

Thus  he  beholds  her  rocking  on  the  water, 
Under  the  glossy  umbrage  of  her  hah-. 
Like  jjearly  Amphitrite's  fairest  daughter, 
Naiad,  or  Nereid,  or  Su-en  fan*, 
Mislodging  music  in  her  pitiless  breast, 
A  nightingale  witliin  a  falcon's  nest. 

They  say  there  be  such  maidens  in  the  deep, 
Charming  poor  mariners,  that  all  too  near 
By  mortal  lullabies  fall  dead  asleep. 
As  di-owsy  men  are  poisoned  through  the  car ; 
Therefore  Leander's  fears  begin  to  m-ge, 
This  snoAvy  swan  is  come  to  sing  his  dirge. 

At  which  he  falls  into  a  deadly  chill. 
And  strains  his  eyes  upon  her  lips  apart ; 
Fearing  each  breath  to  feel  that  prelude  shrill, 
Pierce  through  his  marrow,  like  a  breath-bloAra  dart 
Shot  sudden  from  an  Lichan's  hollow  cane. 
With  mortal  venom  fraught,  and  fiery  pain. 

Here,  then,  poor  wretch,  how  he  begins  to  crowd 
A  thousand  thoughts  within  a  pulse's  space  ; 
There  seemed  so  brief  a  pause  of  life  allowed, 
His  mind  stretched  universal,  to  embrace 
The  whole  wide  world,  in  an  extreme  fareAvell,  — 
A  moment's  musing  —  but  an  age  to  tell. 


HERO    AND    LEANDEU.  63 

For  there  stood  Hero,  wdowed  at  a  glance, 

The  foreseen  sum  of  many  a  tedious  fact, 

Pale  cheeks,  dim  eyes,  and  withered  countenance, 

A  wasted  ruin  that  no  wasting  lacked  ; 

Time's  tragic  consequents  ere  time  began, 

A  world  of  sorrow  in  a  tear-di-oj^'s  span. 

A  moment's  thinking  is  an  hour  in  words,  — 
An  horn-  of  words  is  Httle  for  some  woes ; 
Too  little  breathing  a  long  life  affords. 
For  love  to  paint  itself  by  perfect  shows  ; 
Then  let  his  love  and  grief  unwronged  lie  dumb, 
Whilst  Fear,  and  that  it  fears,  together  come. 

As  when  the  crew,  hard  by  some  jutty  cape, 
Struck  pale  and  panicked  by  the  billows'  roar, 
Lay  by  all  timely  measiu-es  of  escape. 
And  let  their  bark  go  driving  on  the  shore ; 
So  frayed  Leander,  diifting  to  his  wreck. 
Gazing  on  Scylla,  falls  upon  her  neck. 

For  he  hath  all  forgot  the  swimmer's  art, 
The  rower's  cunning,  and  the  pilot's  skill, 
Letting  his  arms  fall  down  in  languid  part. 
Swayed  by  the  waves,  and  nothmg  by  his  will, 
Till  soon  he  jars  against  that  glossy  skin, 
Solid  like  glass,  though  seemingly  as  thin. 

Lo !  how  she  startles  at  the  warning  shock, 
And  straightway  gii-ds  him  to  her  radiant  breast, 
More  like  his  safe  smooth  harbor  than  his  rock  ; 
Poor  wretch,  he  is  so  faint  and  toil-opprest. 
He  cannot  loose  him  from  his  grappling  foe, 
Whether  for  love  or  hate,  she  lets  not  go. 


64  HEKO    AND   LEANDEB,. 

His  eyes  are  blinded  with  the  sleety  brine, 
His  ears  are  deafened  with  the  wildering  noise ; 
He  asks  the  purpose  of  her  fell  design, 
But  foamy  waves  choke  up  his  struggling  voice ; 
Under  the  ponderous  sea  his  body  dips. 
And  Hero's  name  dies  bubbling  on  his  lips. 

Look  how  a  man  is  lowered  to  his  grave  ; 
A  yearning  hollow  in  the  green  earth's  lap  ; 
So  he  is  sunk  into  the  yawning  wave. 
The  plunging  sea  fills  up  the  watery  gap  ; 
Anon  he  is  all  gone,  and  nothing  seen, 
But  likeness  of  green  turf  and  hillocks  green. 

And  where  he  swam  the  constant  sun  lies  sleeping, 
Over  the  verdant  plain  that  makes  his  bed ; 
And  all  the  noisy  waves  go  freshly  leaping, 
Like  gamesome  boys  over  the  chm-ch-yard  dead  ; 
The  light  in  vain  keeps  looldng  for  his  face, 
Now  screaming  sea  fowl  settle  in  his  place. 

Yet  weep  and  watch  for  him,  though  all  in  vain ! 
Ye  moaning  billows,  seek  him  as  ye  wander ! 
Ye  gazing  sunbeams,  look  for  him  again  ! 
Ye  winds,  grow  hoarse  with  asking  for  Leander ! 
Ye  did  but  spare  him  for  more  cruel  rape, 
Sea  storm  and  ruin  in  a  female  shape ! 

She  says  'tis  love  hath  bribed  her  to  this  deed. 
The  glancing  of  his  eyes  did  so  bewitch  her. 
O  bootless  theft !  unprofitable  meed ! 
Love's  trcasmy  is  sacked,  but  she  no  richer ; 
The  sparkles  of  his  eyes  are  cold  and  dead, 
And  all  his  golden  looks  ai-e  tui-ned  to  lead ! 


HERO    AND    LEANDEE,.  65 

She  holds  the  casket,  but  her  simple  hand 
Hath  spilled  its  dearest  jewel  bj'  the  way ; 
She  hath  life's  empty  garment  at  command, 
But  her  own  death  Hes  covert  in  the  prey  ; 
As  if  a  thief  should  steal  a  tainted  vest, 
Some  dead  man's  spoil,  and  sid^en  of  his  pest. 

Now  she  compels  him  to  her  deeps  below, 

Hiding  his  face  beneath  her  plenteous  hair. 

Which  jealously  she  shakes  all  round  her  brow, 

For  dread  of  env}-,  though  no  eyes  are  there 

But  seals',  and  all  brute  tenants  of  the  deep, 

Wliich  heedless  through  the  wave  their  journeys  keep. 

Down  and  still  downward  through  the  dusky  green 

She  bore  liim,  murmming  with  joyous  haste 

In  too  rash  ignorance,  as  he  had  been 

Bom  to  the  texture  of  that  watei-y  waste ; 

That  which  she  breathed  and  sighed,  the  emerald  wave. 

How  could  her  pleasant  home  become  his  grave ! 

Down  and  still  downward  through  the  dusky  green 
She  bore  her  treasure,  Avith  a  face  too  nigh 
To  mark  how  life  was  altered  in  its  mien, 
Or  how  the  light  grew  torpid  in  his  ej-e, 
Or  how  his  pearly  breath,  unprisoned  there, 
Flew  up  to  join  the  universal  air. 

She  could  not  miss  the  throbbings  of  his  heart, 
Whilst  her  o\\-n  pulse  so  wantoned  in  its  joy  ; 
She  could  not  guess  he  struggled  to  depart, 
And  when  he  strove  no  more,  the  hapless  boy ! 
She  read  his  mortal  stillness  for  content, 
Feehng  no  fear  where  only  love  was  meant. 
6* 


gg  HERO    AND    LEANDER. 

Soon  she  alights  upon  her  ocean-floor, 

And  straight  unyokes  her  arms  from  her  fair  prize ; 

Then  on  his  lovely  face  begins  to  pore, 

As  if  to  glut  her  soul ;  —  her  hungry  eyes 

Have  grown  so  jealous  of  her  arms'  delight ; 

It  seems,  she  hath  no  other  sense  but  sight. 

But,  O,  sad  marvel !  O,  most  bitter  strange  ! 
What  dismal  magic  makes  his  cheek  so  pale  ? 
Why  will  he  not  embrace,  —  why  not  exchange 
Her  kindly  kisses  ;  —  wherefore  not  exhale 
Some  odorous  message  from  life's  ruby  gates, 
Where  she  liis  first  sweet  embassy  awaits  ? 

Her  eyes,  poor  watchers,  fixed  upon  his  looks. 
Are  grappled  with  a  wonder  near  to  grief. 
As  one  who  pores  on  undcciphercd  books, 
Strains  vain  surmise,  and  dodges  with  beHef ; 
So  she  keeps  gazing  with  a  mazy  thought, 
Framing  a  thousand  doubts  that  end  in  nought. 

Too  stem  inscrii)tion  for  a  page  so  young. 
The  dark  translation  of  his  look  was  death ! 
But  death  was  written  in  an  alien  tongue. 
And  learning  was  not  by  to  give  it  breath ; 
So  one  deep  woe  sleeps  buried  in  its  seal. 
Which  Time,  untimely,  hasteth  to  reveal. 

Meanwhile  she  sits  unconscious  of  her  hap, 
Nyvsing  Death's  marble  effigy,  which  there 
With  heavy  head  lies  pillowed  in  her  lap, 
And  elbows  all  imhinged  ;  —  his  sleeking  hair 
Creeps  o'er  her  knees,  and  settles  where  his  hand 
Leans  with  lax  fingers  crooked  against  the  sand  ; 


HERO    AND    LEANDER.  67 

And  there  lies  spread  in  many  an  oozy  trail, 
Like  glossy  weeds  hung  from  a  chalky  base, 
That  shows  no  whiter  than  his  brow  is  pale  ; 
So  soon  the  wintry  death  had  bleached  his  face 
Into  cold  marble,  —  with  blue  cliilly  shades, 
Showing  wherein  the  freezy  blood  pervades. 

And  o'er  his  steadfast  cheek  a  furrowed  pain 
Hath  set,  and  stiffened  like  a  storm  in  ice. 
Showing  by  drooping  lines  the  deadly  strain 
Of  mortal  anguish  ;  —  yet  you  might  gaze  twice 
Ere  Death  it  seemed,  and  not  his  cousin,  Sleep, 
That  through  those  cre\'iced  lids  did  underpeep. 

But  all  that  tender  bloom  about  his  eyes, 

Is  Death's  o\\-n  violets,  \yhich  his  utmost  rite 

It  is  to  scatter  when  the  red  rose  dies  ; 

For  blue  is  chilly,  and  alun  to  white : 

Also  he  leaves  some  tinges  on  his  lips. 

Which  he  hath  kissed  with  such  cold  fi'osty  nips. 

"  Surely,"  quoth  she,  "  he  sleeps,  the  senseless  thing. 
Oppressed  and  faint  with  toiling  in  the  stream ! " 
Therefore  she  A\-ill  not  mar  his  rest,  but  sing 
So  low,  her  tune  shall  mingle  with  his  ckeam ; 
Meanwhile,  her  lily  fingers  tasks  to  twine 
His  uncrispt  locks  uncurling  in  the  brine. 

"  O  lovely  boy  ! "  —  thus  she  attuned  her  voice,  — 
"  Welcome,  thrice  welcome,  to  a  sea-maid's  home  ; 
My  love-mate  thou  shalt  be,  and  true  heart's  choice  ; 
How  have  I  longed  such  a  tAvin-self  should  come,  — 
A  lonely  thing,  till  this  sweet  chance  befell. 
My  heart  kept  sighing  like  a  hollow  shell. 


08  HERO    AND    LEANDER. 

"  Here  thou  shalt  live  beneath  tlais  secret  dome, 

An  ocean-bower  ;  defended  by  the  shade 

Of  quiet  waters,  a  cool  emerald  gloom 

To  lap  thee  all  about.     Nay,  be  not  frayed. 

Those  are  but  shady  fishes  that  sail  by 

Lilie  antic  clouds  across  my  liquid  sky  ! 

"  Look  how  the  sunbeam  burns  upon  their  scales, 
And  shows  ricli  glimpses  of  their  Tyrian  skins ; 
They  flash  small  lightnings  from  their  vigorous  tails, 
And  winking  stars  are  kindled  at  their  fins  ; 
These  shall  divert  thee  in  thy  weariest  mood, 
And  seek  thy  hand  for  gamesomeness  and  food. 

"  Lo  !  those  green  pretty  leaves  with  tassel  bells. 
My  flowerets  those,  that  never  pine  for  drowth ; 
Myself  did  plant  them  in  the  dajjjjled  shells, 
That  drink  the  wave  Avith  such  a  rosy  mouth,  — 
Pearls  wouldst  thou  have  beside  ?  crystals  to  shine  ? 
I  had  such  treasm-es  once,  —  now  they  are  thine. 

"  Now,  lay  thine  ear  against  this  golden  sand, 
And  thou  shalt  hear  the  music  of  the  sea, 
Those  hollow  tunes  it  plaj-s  against  the  land,  — 
Is't  not  a  rich  and  wondrous  melody  ? 
I  have  lain  hours,  and  fancied  in  its  tone 
I  heard  the  languages  of  ages  gone ! 

"  I  too  can  sing  when  it  shall  please  thy  choice, 
And  breathe  soft  tunes  through  a  melodious  shell, 
Though  heretofore  I  have  but  set  my  voice 
To  some  long  sighs,  grief  harmonized,  to  tell 
How  desolate  I  fared  ;  —  but  this  sweet  change 
Will  add  new  notes  of  gladness  to  my  range ! 


HERO    AND    LEANDER.  69 

"  Or  bid  me  spealv,  and  I  will  tell  thee  tales, 
Which  I  have  framed  out  of  the  noise  of  Avaves  ; 
Ere  now,  I  have  communed  with  senseless  gales, 
And  held  vain  colloquies  with  barren  caves  ; 
But  I  could  talk  to  thee  whole  days  and  days, 
Only  to  word  my  love  a  thousand  ways. 

«  But  if  thy  lips  will  ])less  me  with  their  speech,  i 

Then  ope,  sweet  oi-acles  !  and  I'll  be  mute  j 

I  was  bom  ignorant  for  thee  to  teach. 

Nay,  all  love's  lore  to  thy  dear  looks  impute ; 

Then  ope  thine  eyes,  fair  teachers,  by  wiiose  light 

I  saw  to  give  away  my  heart  aright ! " 

But  cold  and  deaf  the  sullen  creature  lies, 
Over  her  knees,  and  with  concealuig  clay 
Like  hoartUng  Avarice  locks  up  his  eyes, 
And  leaves  her  world  impoverished  of  day  ; 
Then  at  his  cruel  li])s  she  bends  to  plead, 
But  there  the  door  is  closed  ag-ainst  her  need. 

Surely  he  sleeps,  —  so  her  false  wits  infer ! 
Alas  !  poor  sluggard,  ne'er  to  wake  again ! 
Surely  he  sleeps,  yet  without  any  stir 
That  might  denote  a  vision  in  his  brain  ; 
Or  if  he  does  not  sleep,  he  feigns  too  long, 
Twice  she  hath  reached  the  ending  of  her  song. 

Therefore,  'tis  time  she  tells  him  to  uncover 
Those  radiant  jesters,  and  disperse  her  fears, 
Whereby  her  April  face  is  shaded  over. 
Like  rainy  clouds  just  ripe  for  showering  tears  j 
Nay,  if  he  will  not  wake,  so  poor  she  gets. 
Herself  must  rob  those  locked  up  cabinets. 


70  HERO    AND    LEANDEU. 

With  that  she  stoops  above  his  brow,  and  bids 
Her  busy  hands  forsake  his  tangled  hair, 
And  tenderly  Hit  up  those  cotfer-lids, 
That  she  may  gaze  upon  tlie  jewels  there, 
Like  babes  that  pluck  an  early  bud  apart, 
To  know  the  dainty  color  of  its  heart. 

Now,  picture  one,  soft  creeping  to  a  bed, 
Who  slowly  parts  the  fringe-hung  canopies, 
And  then  starts  back  to  find  the  sleeper  dead ; 
So  she  looks  in  on  his  uncovered  eyes, 
And  seeing  all  within  so  drear  and  dark, 
Her  own  bright  soul  dies  in  her  like  a  spark. 

Backward  she  falls,  like  a  pale  prophetess, 
Under  the  swoon  of  holy  divination  : 
And  what  had  all  surpassed  her  simple  guess, 
She  now  resolves  in  this  dark  revelation  ; 
Death's  very  mystery,  —  oblivious  death ;  — 
Long  sleep,  —  deep  night,  and  an  entranced  breath. 

Yet  life,  though  wounded  sore,  not  wholly  slain, 
Merely  obscured,  and  not  extinguished,  hes  ; 
Her  breath,  that  stood  at  ebb,  soon  flows  agam. 
Heaving  her  hollow  breast  with  heavy  sighs. 
And  light  comes  in  and  kindles  up  the  gloom. 
To  light  her  spirit  from  its  transient  tomb. 

Then  like  the  sim,  awakened  at  new  dawn. 
With  pale  bewildered  face  she  peers  about. 
And  spies  blurred  images  obscurely  di'awn. 
Uncertain  shadows  in  a  haze  of  doubt ; 
But  her  true  grief  grows  shapely  by  degrees, 
A  perished  creature  lying  on  her  knees. 


HEUO    AXD    LEANBEll.  71 

And  now  she  knows  how  that  old  ^lurther  preys, 
Whose  quarry  on  her  laj)  Hes  newh'  slain : 
How  he  roams  all  abroad  and  grimly  slays, 
Like  a  lean  tiger  in  Love's  own  domain  ; 
Parting  fond  mates,  —  and  oft  in  flowery  lawns 
Bereaves  mild  mothers  of  then-  milky  fawns. 

O,  too  dear  knowledge  !     O,  pernicious  earnmg ! 
Foul  curse  engraven  upon  beauty's  page ! 
Even  now  the  sorrow  of  that  deadly  learning 
Ploughs  up  her  brow,  like  an  untimely  age, 
And  on  her  cheek  stamps  verdict  of  death's  truth 
By  canker  blights  upon  the  bud  of  youth ! 

For  as  unwholesome  winds  decay  the  leaf. 
So  her  cheeks'  rose  is  perished  by  her  sighs, 
And  Antliers  in  the  sickly  breath  of  grief; 
Whilst  unacquainted  rheum  bedims  her  eyes, 
Tears,  virgin  tears,  the  fost  that  ever  leapt 
From  those  young  lids,  now  plentifully  wept 

Whence  being  shed,  the  liquid  crystalline 
Drops  straightway  down,  refusing  to  partake 
In  gross  admixture  with  the  baser  brine. 
But  shrinks  and  hardens  mto  pearls  opaque, 
Hereafter  to  be  worn  on  arms  and  ears ; 
So  one  maid's  trophy  is  another's  tears ! 

«  O,  foul  Arch-Shadow,  thou  old  cloud  of  Night," 
(Thus  in  her  frenzy  she, began  to  wail,) 
"  Thou  blank  oblivion  —  blotter  out  of  light. 
Life's  ruthless  mvu'derer,  and  dear  Love's  bale ! 
^^'■hy  hast  thou  left  thy  havoc  incomplete, 
Leavmg  me  here,  and  slaying  the  more  sweet  ? 


72  HEllO    AND    LEANDER. 

"  Lo  !  what  a  lovely  ruin  thou  hast  made  ! 
Alas  !  alas  !  thou  hast  no  eyes  to  see, 
And  blindly  slew'st  him  in  misguided  shade. 
Would  I  had  lent  my  doting  sense  to  thee ! 
But  now  I  turn  to  thee,  a  willing  mark, 
Thine  arrows  miss  me  in  the  aimless  dark  ! 

"  O,  doubly  cruel  I  —  twice  misdoing  spite, 

But  I  will  guide  thee  with  my  helping  eyes, 

Or  walk  the  wide  world  through,  devoid  of  sight. 

Yet  thou  shalt  know  me  by  my  many  sighs. 

Nay,  then  thou  shouldst  have  spared  my  rose,  false  Death, 

And  known  Love's  tiower  by  smelling  his  sweet  breath  ; 

"  Or.  when  thy  furious  rage  was  round  him  dealing. 
Love  should  have  grown  from  touching  of  his  slun ; 
But  like  cold  marble  thou  art  all  unfeeling, 
And  hast  no  ruddy  springs  of  warmth  within. 
And  being  but  a  shape  of  freezing  bone, 
Thy  touching  only  turned  my  love  to  stone ! 

"  And  here,  alas  !  he  lies  across  my  knees, 
With  cheeks  still  colder  than  the  stilly  wave. 
The  light  beneath  his  eyelids  seems  to  freeze  ; 
Here  then,  since  Love  is  dead  and  lacks  a  grave, 
O,  come  and  dig  it  in  my  sad  heart's  core  — 
That  wound  will  bring  a  balsam  for  its  sore  ! 

"  For  art  thou  not  a  sleep  where  sense  of  ill 
Lies  stingless,  lilie  a  sense  benumbed  with  cold, 
HeaHng  all  hurts  only  with  sleep's  good  will  ? 
So  shall  I  slumber,  and  perchance  behold 
My  Ihing  love  in  dreams,  —  O,  happy  night. 
That  lets  me  company  his  banished  spright  • 


HERO    AND    LEANDER.  73 

"  O,  poppy  death  !  —  sweet  poisoner  of  sleej) ; 
"Where  shall  I  seek  for  thee,  obli\ious  di-ug, 
That  I  may  steep  thee  in  my  drink,  and  creep 
Out  of  life's  coil  ?     Look,  Idol !  how  I  hug 
Thy  dainty  image  in  this  strict  embrace, 
And  Idss  this  clay-cold  model  of  thy  face  ! 

"  Put  out,  put  out  these  sun-consuming  lamps  ! 
I  do  but  read  ni}-  sorrows  by  their  shine  ; 
O,  come  and  quench  them  with  thy  oozy  damps, 
And  let  my  darkness  intermix  with  thine  ; 
Since  love  is  blinded,  wherefore  should  I  see  ? 
Now  love  is  death,  —  death  will  be  love  to  me  ! 

"  Away,  away,  this  vain  complaining  breath. 
It  does  but  stir  the  trou1)les  that  I  weep ; 
Let  it  be  hushed  and  quieted,  swe^Death  ; 
The  wind  must  settle  ere  the  wave  can  sleep,  — 
Since  love  is  silent  I  would  fain  be  mute ; 
O,  Death,  be  gracious  to  my  dying  suit ! " 

Thus  far  she  pleads,  but  pleading  nought  avails  her, 
For  Death,  her  sullen  burthen,  deigns  no  heed ; 
Then  with  dumb  craving  arms,  smce  darkness  fails  her. 
She  i)rays  to  heaven's  fair-  light,  as  if  her  need 
Inspired  her  there  were  gods  to  pity  pain, 
Or  end  it,  —  but  she  lifts  her  arms  in  vain  ! 

Poor  gilded  Grief!  the  subtle  hght  by  this 
"With  mazy  gold  creeps  through  her  watery  mine, 
And,  dinng  downward  through  the  green  abyss, 
Lights  up  her  palace  with  an  amber  shine  ; 
There,  falling  on  her  arms,  —  the  crystal  skin 
Reveals  the  ruby  tide  that  fares  within. 
7 


74  HERO    AND    LEANDER. 

Look  how  the  fulsome  beam  would  hang  a  glory 
On  her  dark  hair,  but  the  dark  hahs  repel  it ; 
Look  how  the  peijured  glow  suborns  a  story 
On  her  pale  lips,  but  lips  refuse  to  tell  it ; 
Grief  will  not  swerve  from  grief,  however  told 
On  coral  lips,  or  charactered  in  gold ; 

Or  else,  thou  maid  !  safe  anchored  on  Love's  neck, 
Listing  the  hapless  doom  of  young  Leander, 
Thou  wouldst  not  shed  a  tear  for  that  old  wreck, 
Sitting  secure  Avhere  no  wild  surges  wander ; 
Whereas  the  woe  moves  on  with  tragic  pace, 
And  shows  its  sad  reflection  in  thy  face. 

Thus  having  travelled  on,  and  tracked  the  tale 
Lilie  the  due  course  of  an  old  bas-rehef. 
Where  Tragedy  pursues  her  progress  pale, 
Brood  here  a  while  upon  that  sea-maid's  grief, 
And  take  a  deeper  imprint  from  the  frieze 
Of  that  young  Fate,  with  Death  upon  her  knees. 

Then  whilst  the  melancholy  Muse  -withal 
Resumes  her  music  in  a  sadder  tone, 
Meanwhile  the  sunbeam  strikes  upon  the  wall, 
Conceive  that  lovely  siren  to  live  on, 
Even  as  Hope  whispered,  the  Promethean  hght 
Would  kindle  up  the  dead  Leander's  spright. 

"  'Tis  light,"  she  says,  "  that  feeds  the  glittering  stars. 
And  those  were  stars  set  in  his  heavenly  brow ; 
But  this  salt  cloud,  this  cold  sea  vapor,  mars 
Their  radiant  breathing,  and  obscm'es  them  now ; 
Therefore  I'll  lay  him  in  the  clear  blue  air, 
And  see  how  these  dull  orbs  will  kindle  there." 


HERO    AND    LEANDER.  75 

Swiftly  as  dolphins  glide,  or  swifter  yet, 
With  dead  Leander  in  her  fond  arms'  fold, 
She  cleaves  the  meshes  of  that  radiant  net 
The  sun  hath  twined  above  of  liquid  gold. 
Nor  slacks  till  on  the  margin  of  the  land 
She  lays  his  body  on  the  glowing  sand. 

There,  like  a  pearly  waif,  just  past  the  reach 
Of  foamy  billows  he  lies  cast.     Just  then. 
Some  Ustless  fishers,  straying  down  the  beach, 
Spy  out  this  wonder.     Thence  the  curious  men, 
Low  croucliing,  creep  into  a  thicket  brake, 
And  watch  her  domgs  till  their  rude  hearts  ache. 

First  she  begins  to  chafe  him  till  she  faints, 
Then  falls  upon  lus  mouth  with  kisses  many, 
And  sometimes  pauses  in  her  own  complaints 
To  list  his  breathing,  but  there  is  not  any,  — 
Then  looks  into  his  eyes  where  no  light  dwells ; 
Light  makes  no  pictures  in  such  muddy  wells. 

The  hot  sun  parches  his  discovered  eyes. 

The  hot  sun  beats  on  liis  discolored  Hmbs, 

The  sand  is  oozy  whereupon  he  Ues, 

Soiling  liis  fairness ;  —  then  away  she  swims, 

Meaning  to  gather  him  a  daintier  bed. 

Plucking  the  cool  fresh  Aveeds,  broA\ai,  green,  and  red. 

But,  simple-witted  thief,  while  she  dives  under, 
Another  I'obs  her  of  her  amorous  theft ; 
The  ambushed  fishermen  creep  forth  to  plunder, 
And  steal  the  unwatched  treasui-e  she  has  left ; 
Only  his  void  impression  dints  the  sands : 
Leander  is  pm-loined  by  stealthy  hands ! 


76  HERO    AND    LEANDER, 

Lo  !  how  she  shudders  off  the  beaded  wave ! 
Like  Grief  all  over  tears,  and  senseless  falls, 
His  void  imprint  seems  hollowed  for  her  grave ; 
Then,  rising  on  her  knees,  looks  round  and  calls 
On  Hero  !  Hero !  —  having  learned  this  name 
Of  his  last  breath,  she  calls  him  by  the  same. 

Then  with  her  frantic  hands  she  rends  her  hairs, ' 
And  casts  them  forth,  sad  keepsakes,  to  the  wind, 
As  if  in  plucking  those  she  jDlucked  her  cares ; 
But  grief  lies  deeper,  and  remains  behind 
Like  a  barbed  arrow,  rankling  in  her  brain. 
Turning  her  very  thoughts  to  throbs  of  pain. 

Anon  her  tangled  locks  are  left  alone, 
And  down  upon  the  sand  she  meekly  sits, 
Hard  by  the  foam,  as  humble  as  a  stone, 
Like  an  enchanted  maid  beside  her  wits, 
That  ponders  with  a  look  serene  and  tragic, 
Stunned  by  the  mighty  mystery  of  magic. 

Or  think  of  Ariadne's  utter  trance. 

Crazed  by  the  flight  of  that  disloyal  traitor. 

Who  left  her  gazing  on  the  green  expanse 

That  swallowed  up  his  track,  —  yet  this  would  mate  her. 

Even  in  the  cloudy  summit  of  her  woe, 

"When  o'er  the  far  sea-brim  she  saw  him  go. 

For  even  so  she  bows,  and  bends  her  gaze 

O'er  the  eternal  waste,  as  if  to  sum 

Its  waves  by  weary  thousands  all  her  days, 

Dismally  doomed  !  meanwhile  the  billows  come, 

And  coldly  dabble  with  her  quiet  feet. 

Like  any  bleaclaing  stones  they  wont  to  greet. 


HERO    AND    LEANDEH.  77 

And  thence  into  her  lap  have  boldly  sprung, 

Washing  her  weedy  tresses  to  and  fro, 

That  round  her  crouching  knees  have  darkly  hung ; 

But  she  sits  careless  of  waves'  ebb  and  Hov.', 

Like  a  lone  beacon  on  a  desert  coast, 

Showing  where  all  her  hope  was  wrecked  and  lost. 

Yet  whether  in  the  sea  or  vaulted  sky, 

She  knoweth  not  her  love's  abrupt  resort, 

So  like  a  shape  of  dreams  he  left  her  eye, 

A\'inking  with  doubt.     Meanwliile,  the  churls'  report 

Has  thronged  the  beach  with  many  a  cmious  face. 

That  peeps  upon  her  from  its  hiding-place. 

And  here  a  head,  and  there  a  brow  half  seen, 

Dodges  behmd  a  rock.     Here  on  his  hands 

A  mariner  his  crumi)led  cheeks  doth  lean 

Over  a  rugged  crest.     Another  stands, 

Holding  his  harmful  arrow  at  the  head, 

Still  checked  by  human  caution  and  strange  dread. 

One  stops  his  ears,  —  another  close  beholder 

"Whispers  unto  the  next  his  grave  surmise ; 

This  crouches  do\Mi,  —  and  just  above  his  shoulder, 

A  woman's  pity  saddens  in  her  eyes, 

And  prompts  her  to  befriend  that  lonely  grief, 

With  all  sweet  helps  of  sisterly  relief. 

And  down  tM  sunny  beach  she  paces  slowly, 
AVith  many  doubtful  pauses  by  the  way ; 
Grief  hath  an  influence  so  hushed  and  holy,  — 
]\Iaking  her  twice  attempt,  ere  she  can  lay 
Her  hand  upon  that  sea-maid's  shoulder  white, 
Which  makes  her  startle  up  in  wild  affiight. 
7* 


78  HEEO    AND    LEAXDEB. 

And,  like  a  seal,  she  leaps  into  the  wave. 
That  drowns  the  shrill  remainder  of  her  scream ; 
Anon  the  sea  fills  up  the  waterj-  cave, 
And  seals  her  exit  with  a  foamy  seam,  — 
Leaving  those  baifled  gazers  on  the  beach, 
Turning  in  imcouth  wonder  each  to  each. 

Some  watch,  some  call,  some  see  her  head  emerge. 
Wherever  a  brown  weed  falls  through  the  foam  ; 
Some  point  to  white  eruptions  of  the  surge  :  — 
But  she  is  vanished  to  her  shady  home. 
Under  the  deep,  inscrutable,  —  and  there 
Weeps  in  a  midnight  made  of  her  own  hair. 

Now  here  the  sighing  winds,  before  unheard. 
Forth  from  their  cloudy  caves  begin  to  blow. 
Till  all  the  surface  of  the  deep  is  stirred. 
Like  to  the  panting  grief  it  hides  below ; 
And  heaven  is  covered  with  a  stormy  rack 
Soiling  the  waters  with  its  inky  black. 

The  screaming  fowl  resigns  her  finny  prey. 
And  labors  shoreward  viith  a  bending  ymis. 
Rowing  against  the  wind  her  toilsome  way  ; 
Meanwhile,  the  curling  billows  chafe,  and  fling 
Their  dewy  frost  still  fm-ther  on  the  stones, 
That  answer  to  the  wind  with  hollow  groans. 

And  here  and  there  a  fisher's  far-off  bark 
Flies  with  the  sun's  last  glimpse  upon  its  sail. 
Like  a  bright  flame  amid  the  waters  dark, 
Watched  with  the  hope  and  fear  of  maidens  pale. 
And  anxious  mothers  that  upturn  their  brows, 
Freighting  the  gusty  wind  Avith  fi-equent  vows, 


HERO    AXr    LEAXDEK.  79 

For  that  the  horrid  deep  has  no  sui-e  track 
To  "uide  love  safe  into  his  homely  haven. 
And,  lo  !  the  storm  grows  blacker  in  its  -wrath, 
O'er  the  daik  billoxr  brooding  like  a  raven. 
That  bodes  of  death  and  widow's  sorrowing, 
Under  the  dusty  covert  of  his  wing. 

And  so  day  ended.     But  no  vesper  spark 
Hung  forth  its  heavenly  sign  ;  but  sheets  of  flame 
Played  round  the  savage  features  of  the  dark, 
Maidng  night  horrible.     That  night,  there  came 
A  weeping  maiden  to  high  Sostos'  steep, 
And  tore  her  hair  and  gazed  upon  the  deep, 

And  -n-avcd  aloft  her  bright  and  ruddy  torch, 
"Whose  flame  the  boastful  wind  so  rudely  fanned, 
That  oft  it  woidd  recoil,  and  basely  scorch 
The  tender  covert  of  her  sheltering  hand : 
'U'liich  yet,  for  love's  dear  sake,  disdained  retire, 
And,  like  a  glornng  mart^T,  braved  the  Are. 

For  that  was  love's  own  sign  and  beacon  guide 
Across  the  Hellespont's  Avide  weary  space, 
"Wherein  he  nightly  struggled  Anth  tlie  tide ; 
Look  what  a  red  it  forges  on  her  face. 
As  if  she  blushed  at  holding  such  a  light, 
Even  in  the  unseen  presence  of  the  night ! 

"Whereas  her  tragic  cheek  is  truly  jjale. 

And  colder  than  the  rude  and  ruffian  air 

That  howls  into  her  ear  a  horrid  tale 

Of  storm,  and  wTeck,  and  uttermost  despair. 

Saying,  "  Leander  floats  amid  the  surge, 

And  those  are  dismal  waves  that  sing  his  dirge." 


g0  HERO    AND    LEANDER. 

And,  hark !  —  a  grieving  voice,  trembling  and  faint, 
Blends  with  the  hollow  sobbings  of  the  sea ; 
Like  the  sad  music  of  a  siren's  plaint, 
But  shriller  than  Leander's  voice  should  be. 
Unless  the  wintry  death  had  changed  its  tone,  — 
Wherefore  she  thinks  she  hears  his  spirit  moan. 

For  now,  upon  each  brief  and  breathless  pause 
Made  by  the  raging  winds,  it  plainly  calls 
On  Hero  !  Hero  !  —  whereupon  she  draws 
Close  to  the  dizzy  brink,  that  ne'er  appalls 
Her  brave  and  constant  spirit  to  recoil, 
However  the  wild  billows  toss  and  toil. 

"  O !  dost  thou  live  under  the  deep,  deep  sea  ? 
I  thought  such  love  as  thine  could  never  die ; 
If  thou  hast  gained  an  immortality 
From  the  kind  pitying  sea-god,  so  will  I ; 
And  this  false  cruel  tide,  that  used  to  sever 
Our  hearts,  shall  be  our  common  home  forever ! 

"  There  wc  will  sit  and  sport  upon  one  billow, 
And  sing  our  ocean-ditties  all  the  day, 
And  lie  together  on  the  same  green  pillow. 
That  curls  above  us  with  its  dewy  sj^ray ; 
And  ever  in  one  presence  live  and  dwell, 
Like  two  twin  pearls  within  the  self-same  shell." 

One  moment,  then,  upon  the  dizzy  verge 

She  stands ;  —  with  face  upturned  against  the  sky  ; 

A  moment  more,  upon  the  foamy  surge 

She  gazes,  with  a  calm  despairing  eye ; 

Feeling  that  awful  ])ause  of  blood  and  breath 

Which  life  endures  when  it  confronts  with  death ;  - 


HERO    AND    LEAKDER.  31 

Then  fi-om  the  giddy  deep  she  madly  springs, 

Grasping  her  maiden  rolws,  that  vaiulj-  kept 

Panting  abroad,  like  unavailing  wings, 

To  save  her  fi-om  her  death.  —  The  sea-maid  wept, 

And  in  a  crystal  cave  her  corse  enshrined ; 

No  meaner  sepulchre  should  Hero  find  ! 


■^^ 


THE  ELM   TREEt 

,     A    nUEAM    IN    THE    WOODS» 

"  And  this  our  life,  exempt  from  public  haunt, 
Finds  tongues  in  trees."  As  You  Like  It. 

TwAS  in  a  shady  avenue, 
Where  lofty  elms  abound  — 
And  from  a  tree 
There  came  to  me 
A  sad  and  solemn  sound, 
That  sometimes  murmured  overhead. 
And  sometimes  underground. 

Amongst  the  leaves  it  seemed  to  sighj 

Amid  the  bougte  to  moan ; 
It  muttered  in  the  stem,  and  then 

The  roots  took  up  the  tone  j 
As  if  beneath  the  dewy  grass 

The  dead  began  to  groan. 

No  breeze  there  was  to  stu-  the  leaves  j 
No  bolts  that  tempests  launch, 

To  rend  the  trunk  or  ru^ed  bark ; 
No  gale  to  bend  the  branch  ; 

No  quake  of  earth  to  heave  the  roots,, 
Thai  stood,  so  stiff  and  stanch. 

(82> 


THE    ELM    TREE.  83 

No' bird  was  preeiiing  up  aloft, 

To  rustle  -svith  its  wing ; 
No  squirrel,  in  its  sport  or  fear, 
From  bough  to  bough  to  spring  ; 
The  solid  bole 
Had  ne'er  a  hole 
To  hide  a  living  thing  ! 

No  scooping  hollow  cell  to  lodge 
A  furtive  beast  or  fowl, 
The  martin,  bat, 
Or  forest  cat 
That  nightly  loves  to  prowl, 
Nor  i\7  nook  so  apt  to  shroud 
The  moping,  snoring  owl. 

But  still  the  sound  was  in  my  ear, 

A  sad  and  solemn  sound. 
That  sometimes  murmured  overhead, 

And  sometimes  underground  — 
'Twas  in  a  shady  avenue 

"Where  lofty  elms  abound. 

O,  hath  the  Dryad  still  a  tongue 

In  this  ungenial  clime  ? 
Have  sylvan  sjjirits  still  a  voice 

As  in  the  classic  prime  — 
To  make  the  forest  voluble, 

As  in  the  olden  time  ? 

The  olden  time  is  dead  and  gone  ; 

Its  years  have  filled  their  sum  — 
And  even  in  Greece  —  her  native  Greece  — 

The  sylvan  nymph  is  dumb  — 
From  ash,  and  beech,  and  aged  oak, 

No  classic  whispers  come. 


84  THE    F.LM    TREE. 

From  poplar,  pine,  and  drooping  birch, 
And  fragrant  linden  trees, 
No  lixing  sound 
E'er  hovers  round. 
Unless  the  vagrant  breeze, 
The  music  of  the  merry  bird, 
Or  hum  of  busy  bees. 

But  busy  bees  forsake  the  elm 
That  bears  no  bloom  aloft  — 

The  finch  was  in  the  hawthorn-bush, 
Tlie  blackbird  in  the  croft ; 

And  among  the  firs  the  brooding  dove, 
That  else  might  murmur  soft. 

Yet  still  I  heard  that  solemn  sound. 

And  sad  it  was  to  boot, 
From  every  overhanging  bough. 

And  each  minuter  shoot; 
From  rugged  trunk  and  mossy  rind, 

And  from  the  twisted  root. 

From  these,  —  a  melancholy  moan; 

From  those,  —  a  dreary  sigh ; 
As  if  the  boughs  were  wintry  bare, 

And  wild  winds  sweeping  by  — 
Whereas  the  smallest  fleecy  cloud 

Was  steadfast  in  the  sky. 

No  sign  or  touch  of  stirring  air 
Could  either  sense  observe  — 

The  zephyr  had  not  breath  enough 
The  thistle-down  to  swerve. 

Or  force  the  filmy  gossamers 
To  take  another  curve. 


THE    ELM    TKEE.  85 

In  still  and  silent  slumber  hushed 

All  Natiu-e  seemed  to  be  : 
From  heaven  above,  or  earth  beneath, 

No  whisper  came  to  me  — 
Except  the  solemn  sound  and  sad 

From  that  MYSTERIOUS  Tree  ! 

A  hollow,  hollow,  hollow  somid, 

As  is  that  dreamy  roar 
When  distant  billows  boil  and  bound 

Along  a  shingly  shore  — 
But  the  ocean  brim  was  far  aloof, 

A  hundi'ed  miles  or  more. 

No  murmur  of  the  gusty  sea, 

No  tumult  of  the  beach, 
However  they  may  foam  and  fi'et, 

The  bounded  sense  could  reach  — 
Methought  the  trees  in  mystic  tongue 

Were  talking  each  to  each !  — 

Mayhap,  rehearsing  ancient  tales 
Of  greeuAvood  love  or  guilt, 
Of  whispered  vows 
Beneath  their  boughs ; 
Or  blood  obscurely  spilt ; 
Or  of  that  near-hand  mansion-house 
A  royal  Tudor  built. 

Perchance,  of  booty  won  or  shai'cd 

Beneath  the  starry  coj)e  — 
Or  where  the  suicidal  Mrctch 

Hung  up  the  fatal  rope  j 
Or  Beauty  kept  an  evil  tryste. 

Ensnared  by  Love  and  Hope. 
8 


86  THE    ELM    TREE. 

Of  graves,  perchance,  untimely  scooped 

At  midnight  dark  and  dank  — 
And  what  is  underneath  the  sod 
Whereon  the  grass  is  rank  — 
Of  okl  intrigues, 
And  privy  leagues, 
Tradition  leaves  in  blank. 

Of  traitor  lips  that  muttered  plots  — 
Of  kui  who  fought  and  fell  — 

God  knows  the  undiscovered  schemes, 
The  arts  and  acts  of  hell, 

Performed  long  generations  since, 
If  trees  had  tongues  to  tell ! 

"With  wary  eyes,  and  ears  alert, 

As  one  who  walks  afraid, 
I  wandered  down  the  dappled  path 

Of  mingled  light  and  shade  — 
How  sweetly  gleamed  that  arch  of  blue 

Beyond  the  green  arcade  ! 

How  cheerly  shone  the  glimpse  of  heaven 

Beyond  that  verdant  aisle  ! 
All  overarched  with  lofty  elms. 

That  quenched  the  Ught,  the  while, 
As  dim  and  chill 
As  serves  to  fill 
Some  old  cathedral  pile  ! 

And  many  a  gnarled  trunk  was  there, 

That  ages  long  had  stood. 
Till  Time  had  wrought  them  into  shapes 

Like  Pan's  fantastic  brood ; 
Or  still  more  foul  and  hideous  forms 

That  pagans  carve  in  wood ! 


THE    ELM    TREE. 

A  croucliing  Satyr  lui-king  here  — 
And  there  a  Goblin  grim  — 

As  staring  full  of  demon  life 
As  Gothic  sculptor's  whim  — 

A  marvel  it  had  scarcely  been 
To  hear  a  voice  from  him] 

Some  whisper  from  that  horiid  mouth 
Of  strange,  unearthly  tone  ; 

Or  -wild  infernal  laugh,  to  chill 
One's  marrow  in  the  bone. 

But  no  —  it  grins  hke  rigid  Death, 
And  silent  as  a  stone ! 

As  silent  as  its  fellows  be, 

For  all  is  mute  with  them  — 

The  branch  that  climbs  the  leafy  roof- 

The  rough  and  mossy  stem  — 

The  crooked  root, 

And  tender  shoot, 

Where  hangs  the  dewy  gem. 

One  mystic  tree  alone  there  is. 
Of  sad  and  solemn  sound  — 

That  sometimes  murmurs  overhead, 
And  sometimes  underground  — 

In  all  that  shady  avenue. 
Where  lofty  elms  abound. 


87 


PART  II. 

The  scene  is  changed !    No  green  arcade, 
No  trees  all  ranged  a-row  — 


g3.  THE    ELM   TKEE. 

But  scattered  like  a  beaten  host, 

Disjiershig  to  and  fro ; 
With  here  and  there  a  sylvan  corse. 

That  fell  before  the  foe, 

Xhe  foe  that  down  in  yonder  dell 

Pursues  his  daily  toil ; 
As  witness  many  a  prostrate  trunli,. 

Bereft  of  leafy  spoil, 
Hard  by  its  wooden  stump,  whereon 

The  adder  loves  to  coiL 

Alone  he  works  —  his  ringing  blows 
Have  banished  bird  and  beast ; 

The  hind  and  fawn  have  cantered  off 
A  hundred  yards  at  least ; 

And  on  the  maple's  lofty  top 
The  linnet's  sono;  has  ceased. 


■'& 


No  eye  his  labor  overlooks, 
Or  when  he  takes  his  rest ; 

Except  the  timid  thrush  that  peeps 
Above  her  secret  nest, 

Forbid  by  love  to  leave  the  young 
Beneath  her  speckled  breast. 

The  woodman's  heart  is  in  his  work. 

His  axe  is  shai-p  and  good  ; 
With  sturdy  arm  and  steady  aim 
He  smites  the  gaping  wood  j 
From  distant  rocks 
His  lusty  knocks 
Reecho  many  a  rood. 


THE    ELM    TEEE.  g9 

I 

His  axe  is  keen,  his  arm  is  strong  ; 

The  muscles  serve  him  well; 
His  years  have  reached  an  extra  span, 

The  number  none  can  tell  ; 
But  still  his  hfe-long  task  has  been 

The  timber  tree  to  fell. 

Through  summer's  parching  sultriness, 
And  winter's  freezing  cold, 
From  sajiling  youth 
To  vu'ile  growth. 
And  age's  rigid  mould, 
His  energetic  axe  hath  rung 
Witliin  that  forest  old. 

Aloft,  upon  liis  poising  steel 

The  ^■i■\•id  sunbeams  glance  — 
About  his  head  and  romid  his  feet 

The  forest  shadows  dance  ; 
And  bounding  from  his  russet  coat 

The  acorn  di'ops  askance. 

His  face  is  like  a  Druid's  face, 

With  wrinkles  furrowed  deep, 
And  tanned  by  scorching  sims  as  brown 

As  com  that's  ripe  to  reap  ; 
But  the  hau-  on  brow,  and  cheek,  and  chin. 

Is  white  as  wool  of  shecj). 

His  frame  is  like  a  giant's  frame ; 

His  legs  are  long  and  stark ; 
His  anns  like  limbs  of  knotted  yew  ; 
His  hands  like  rugged  bark ; 
So  he  fellcth  still. 
With  right  good  will, 
As  if  to  build  an  ark  ! 
8* 


90  THE    ELM    TREE. 

O  !  well  within  Ms  fatal  path 

The  fearful  tree  might  quake 
Tlii'ough  every  fibre,  twig,  and  leaf, 
With  aspen  tremor  shake  ; 
Through  trunk  and  root, 
And  branch  and  shoot, 
A  low  complaining  make ! 

O !  well  to  him  the  tree  might  breathe 
A  sad  and  solemn  sound, 

A  sigh  that  murmm-ed  overhead. 
And  groans  from  underground ; 

As  in  that  shady  avenue 
Where  lofty  elms  abound ! 

But  calm  and  mute  the  maple  stands, 
The  plane,  the  ash,  the  fir. 

The  elm,  the  beech,  the  drooiDing  birch, 
Without  the  least  demur  ; 

And  e'en  the  aspen's  hoary  leaf 
Makes  no  unusual  stir. 

The  pines  —  those  old  gigantic  pines, 
That  writhe  —  recalling  soon 

The  famous  human  group  that  writhes 
With  snakes  in  wild  festoon  — 

In  ramous  wrestHugs  interlaced 
A  forest  Laocoon  ^ — 

Like  Titans  of  primeval  girth 

By  tortures  overcome. 
Then'  brown  enormous  limbs  they  twine, 

Bedewed  with  tears  of  gum  — 
Fierce  agonies  that  ought  to  yell, 

But,  like  the  marble,  dumb. 


THE    ELM    TllEE.  91 

Nav,  yonder  blasted  elm  that  stands 

So  like  a  man  of  sin, 
Who,  frantic,  flings  his  arms  abroad 

To  feel  the  worm  witliin  — 
For  all  that  gestm-e,  so  intense, 

It  makes  no  sort  of  din  ! 

An  tmiversal  silence  reigns 

In  rugged  bai'k  or  peel, 
Except  tliat  very  trmik  -which  xings 

Beneath  the  biting  steel  — 
Meamvhile  the  Moodman  plies  his  axe 

AVith  mu-elenting  zeal ! 


'a 


No  rustic  song  is  on  his  tongue, 

No  wliistle  on  his  lips  ; 
But,  A\ith  a  quiet  thoughtfulness 

His  trusty  tool  he  grips, 
And,  stroke  on  stroke,  keeps  hacking  out 

The  bright  and  flying  chips. 

Stroke  after  stroke,  with  frequent  dint 

He  spreads  the  fatal  gash  ; 
Till,  lo !  the  remnant  fibres  rend, 

With  harsh  and  sudden  crash. 
And  on  the  dull-resounding  turf 

The  jarring  branches  lash  ! 

O !  now  the  forest  trees  may  sigh. 

The  ash,  the  poplai-  tall. 
The  elm,  the  bu-ch,  the  di-ooping  beech, 
The  aspens  —  one  and  all, 
AVith  solemn  groan 
And  hollow  moan 
Lament  a  comrade's  fall ! 


92  THE    ELM    TREE. 

A  goodly  elm,  of  noble  girth, 
That,  thrice  the  hviraan  span  — 

While  on  their  variegated  course 
The  constant  seasons  ran  — 

Through  gale,  and  hail,  and  fiery  bolt, 
Had  stood  erect  as  man. 

But  now.  like  mortal  man  himself, 
Struck  down  by  hand  of  God, 

Or  heathen  idol  tumbled  prone 
Beneath  the  Eternal's  nod. 

In  all  its  giant  bulk  and  length 
It  lies  along  the  sod ! 

Ay,  now  the  forest  trees  may  grieve 
And  make  a  common  moan 

Around  that  patriarchal  trunk 
So  newly  overthrown ; 

And  with  a  mm-mur  recognize 
A  doom  to  be  their  own  ! 

The  echo  sleeps  :  the  idle  axe, 

A  disregarded  tool, 
Lies  crushing  with  its  passive  weight 

The  toad's  reputed  stool  — 
The  woodman  wipes  his  dew>'  brow 

Within  the  shadows  cool. 

No  zephyr  stirs  :  the  ear  may  catch 
The  smallest  insect  hum  ; 

But  on  the  disappointed  sense 
No  mystic  whispers  come ; 

No  tone  of  sylvan  sympathy, 
The  forest  trees  are  dumh. 


THE    ELM    TREE.  93 

No  leafy  noise,  nor  inward  voice, 

No  sad  and  solemn  sound. 
That  sometimes  mm-murs  overhead, 

And  sometimes  undergromid ; 
As  in  that  shady  avenue, 

Where  lofty  alms  abovmd  ! 


PART  III. 

The  deed  is  done  :  the  tree  is  low 

That  stood  so  long  and  fii-m  ; 
The  woodman  and  his  axe  are  gone, 

His  toil  has  found  its  term  ; 
And  where  he  wrought  the  sjieckled  thrush 

Secm-ely  hunts  the  worm. 

The  cony  from  the  sandy  bank 

Has  run  a  rapid  race, 
Through  thistle,  bent,  and  tangled  fern, 

To  seek  the  open  space  ; 
And  on  its  haunches  sits  erect 

To  clean  its  furry  face. 

The  dappled  fawn  is  close  at  hand, 

The  hind  is  browsing  near,  — 
And  on  the  larch's  lowest  bough 
The  ousel  whistles  clear ; 
But  cliecks  the  note 
Within  its  throat. 
As  choked  with  sudden  fear ! 


94  THE    ELM    TREE. 

With  sudden  fear  her  wormy  quest 
The  thrush  abruptly  quits  — 

Through  thistle,  bent,  and  tangled  fern 
The  startled  cony  flits  ; 

And  on  the  larch's  lowest  bough 
No  more  the  ousel  sits. 

With  sudden  fear 
The  dappled  deer 
Effect  a  swift  escape  ; 
But  well  might  bolder  creatures  start 

And  fly,  or  stand  agape, 
With  rising  hah'  and  curdled  blood, 
To  see  so  grim  a  Shape ! 

The  very  sky  turns  pale  above  ; 

The  earth  grows  dark  beneath  ; 
The  human  terror  thrills  with  cold, 

And  draws  a  shorter  breath  — 
An  universal  panic  owns 

The  dread  approach  of  Death  ! 

With  silent  pace,  as  shadows  come, 

And  dark  as  shadows  be, 
The  grisly  phantom  takes  his  stand 

Beside  the  fallen  tree. 
And  scans  it  with  his  gloomy  eyes, 

And  laughs  with  horrid  glee  — 

A  dreary  laugh  and  desolate, 
Where  mirth  is  void  and  null, 

As  hollow  as  its  echo  sounds 
Within  the  hollow  skull  — 

"  Whoever  laid  this  tree  along, 
•       His  hatchet  was  not  dull ! 


THE   ElM    TE.EE. 

"  The  human  ann  and  human  tool  , 

Have  done  then-  duty  well ! 
But  after  sound  of  ringing  axe 
Must  sound  the  ringing  knell ; 
When  elm  or  oalc 
Have  felt  the  stroke 
My  turn  it  is  to  fell. 

"  No  passive  um-egarded  tree, 

A  senseless  thing  of  wood, 
AVherein  the  sluggish  sap  ascends 

To  swell  the  vernal  bud  — 
But  conscious,  moving,  breathing  trunks, 

That  throb  with  living  blood  ! 

"  No  forest  monarch  yearly  clad 

In  mantle  green  or  brown  ; 
That  unrecorded  lives,  and  falls 

By  hand  of  rustic  clo^^^l  — 
But  kings  Avho  don  the  purple  robe. 

And  wear  the  jewelled  crown. 

"Ah!  httle  recks  the  royal  mind, 

"Within  his  banquet  hall, 
"While  tapers  shine,  and  music  breathes, 

And  beauty  leads  the  ball,  — 
He  little  recks  the  oaken  plunk 

Shall  be  his  palace  wall ! 

"  Ah,  little  dreams  the  haughty  peer. 
The  while  his  falcon  flies  — 

Or  on  the  blood-bedabbled  turf 
The  antlered  quarry  dies  — 

That  in  his  own  ancestral  park 
The  narrow  dwelling  lies. 


95 


98  THE  DREAM  OP  EUGENE  ARAM. 

The  gentle  hind  and  dappled  fawn 

Are  coming  up  the  glade  ; 
Each  harmless  fuiTed  and  feathered  thing 

Is  glad,  and  not  afraid  — 
But  on  my  saddened  spirit  still 

The  shadow  leaves  a  shade. 

A  secret,  vague,  prophetic  gloom, 
As  though  by  certain  mark 

I  knew  the  fore-a])pointed  tree 
"Within  whose  rugged  bark 

This  warm  and  living  frame  shall  find 
Its  narrow  house  and  dark. 

That  mystic  tree  which  breathed  to  me 

A  sad  and  solemn  sound, 
That  sometimes  murmured  overhead. 

And  sometimes  underground ; 

Within  that  shady  a^'enue 
Where  lofty  elms  abomid.  _ 


THE  DIIEA]M  OF   EUGENE   ARAM. 

'TwAS  in  the  prime  of  summer  time, 

An  evening  calm  and  cool, 
And  fom'  and  twenty  happy  boys 

Came  bounding  out  of  school : 
There  were  some  that  ran,  and  some  that  leapt 

Like  troutlets  in  a  pool. 

Awii}-  they  sped  with  gamesome  minds 
And  souls  untouched  by  sin ; 


THE  DREAM  OF  EUGENE  ARAM.  99 

To  a  level  mead  they  came,  and  there 

They  drave  the  wickets  m  : 
Pleasantly  shone  the  setting  sun 

Over  the  town  of  Lynn. 

Like  sportive  deer  they  coursed  about, 

And  shouted  as  they  ran,  — 
Turning  to  mirth  all  things  of  earth. 

As  only  boyhood  can  ; 
But  the  Usher  sat  remote  from  all, 

A  melancholy  man ! 

His  hat  was  off,  his  vest  apart, 

To  catch  heaven's  blessed  breeze  ; 

For  a  burning  thought  was  in  his  brow. 
And  his  bosom  ill  at  ease  : 

So  he  leaned  his  head  on  his  hands,  and  read 
The  book  between  his  knees  ! 

Leaf  after  leaf  he  turned  it  o'er. 

Nor  ever  glanced  aside. 
For  the  peace  of  his  soul  he  read  that  book 

In  the  golden  eventide  : 
Much  study  had  made  him  very  lean, 

And  pale,  and  leaden-eyed. 

At  last  he  shut  the  ponderous  tome. 

With  a  fast  and  fervent  grasp 
He  strained  the  dusky  covers  close. 

And  fixed  the  brazen  hasp  : 
"  O,  God  !  could  I  so  close  my  mind, 

And  clasp  it  with  a  clasp ! " 

Then  leaping  on  his  feet  upright, 
Some  moody  turns  he  took  — 


98  THE  DREAM  OF  EUGENE  ARAM. 

The  gentle  hind  and  dappled  fawn 

Are  coming  up  the  glade  ; 
Each  harmless  furred  and  feathered  thing 

Is  glad,  and  not  afraid  — 
But  on  my  saddened  spirit  still 

The  shadow  leaves  a  shade. 

A  secret,  vague,  prophetic  gloom, 
As  though  by  certain  mark 

I  knew  the  fore-appointed  tree 
Within  whose  rugged  bark 

This  warm  and  living  frame  shall  find 
Its  narrow  house  and  dark. 

That  mystic  tree  which  breathed  to  me 

A  sad  and  solemn  sound, 
That  sometimes  mm-mured  overhead, 

And  sometimes  undergi-ound ; 
Within  that  shady  avenue 

Where  lofty  elms  aboimd. 


THE  DREAM  OF  EUGENE  ARAM. 

'TwAS  in  the  prime  of  summer  time, 

An  evening  calm  and  cool. 
And  foui'  and  twenty  happy  boys 

Came  bounding  out  of  school : 
There  were  some  that  ran,  and  some  that  leapt 

Like  troutlets  in  a  pool. 

Away  they  sped  with  gamesome  minds 
And  souls  untouched  by  sin ; 


THE  DREAM  OF  EUGENE  ARAM.  99 

To  a  level  mead  they  came,  and  there 

They  drave  the  wickets  m  : 
Pleasantly  shone  the  setthig  smi 

Over  the  town  of  Lynn. 

Like  sportive  deer  they  com'sed  about, 

And  shouted  as  they  ran,  — 
Turning  to  muth  all  things  of  earth, 

As  only  boyhood  can  ; 
But  the  Usher  sat  remote  fi'om  all, 

A  melancholy  man ! 

His  hat  was  off,  his  vest  apart, 

To  catch  heaven's  blessed  breeze  ; 

For  a  burning  thought  was  in  his  brow, 
And  his  bosom  ill  at  ease  : 

So  he  leaned  his  head  on  his  hands,  and  read 
The  book  between  his  knees  ! 

Leaf  after  leaf  he  turned  it  o'er, 

Nor  ever  glanced  aside. 
For  the  peace  of  his  soul  he  read  that  book 

In  the  golden  eventide  : 
Much  study  had  made  him  very  lean, 

And  pale,  and  leaden-eyed. 

At  last  he  shut  the  ponderous  tome, 

With  a  fast  and  fervent  grasp 
He  strained  the  dusky  covers  close, 

And  fixed  the  brazen  hasp  : 
"  O,  God  !  could  I  so  close  my  mind. 

And  clasp  it  with  a  clasp ! " 

Then  leaping  on  his  feet  upright, 
Some  moody  turns  he  took  — 


100         THE  DREAM  OP  EUGENE  ARAM. 

Now  up  the  mead,  then  down  the  mead, 
And  2xist  a  shady  nook,  — 

And,  lo  !  he  saw  a  little  bo}- 
That  pored  upon  a  book ! 

"  My  gentle  lad,  what  is't  you  read  — 
Romance  or  fairy  fable  ? 

Or  is  it  some  historic  page, 

Of  kings  and  crowns  unstable  ?  " 

The  young  boy  gave  an  upward  glance,  - 
"  It  is  '  The  Death  of  Abel.'  " 

The  Usher  took  six  hasty  strides. 
As  sniit  with  sudden  pain, — 

Six  hasty  strides  beyond  the  place. 
Then  slowly  back  again  ; 

And  down  he  sat  beside  the  lad, 
And  talked  with  him  of  Cain  ; 

And,  long  since  then,  of  bloody  men, 
Whose  deeds  tradition  saves  ; 

Of  lonely  folk  cut  oif  unseen. 
And  hid  in  sudden  graves ; 

Of  horrid  stabs  in  groves  forlorn," 
And  murders  done  in  caves ; 

And  how  the  sprites  of  injured  men 
Shiiek  upward  from  the  sod, — 

Ay,  how  the  ghostly  hand  will  point 
To  show  the  burial  clod  ; 

And  unknown  facts  of  guilty  acts 
Are  seen  in  dreams  from  God ! 

He  told  how  murderers  walk  the  earth 
Beneath  the  curse  of  Cain,  — 


THE  DREAM  OF  EUGENE  ARAM.  101 

With  crimson  clouds  before  their  eyes, 

And  flames  about  their  brain  i 
For  blood  has  left  upon  their  souls 

Its  everlasting  stain ! 

"  And  -well,"  quoth  he,  "  I  know,  for  truth, 
Their  pangs  must  be  extreme,  — 

Woe,  woe,  unutterable  woe,  — 

Who  spill  life's  sacred  stream  ! 

For  why  ?     Methought,  last  night,  I  wrought 
A  mm-der,  in  q.  dream  ! 

"  One  that  had  never  done  me  wrong  — 

A  feeble  man  and  old  ; 
I  led  him  to  a  lonely  field,  — 

The  moon  shone  clear  and  cold : 
Now  here,  said  I,  this  man  shall  die, 

And  I  will  have  his  gold ! 

"Two  sudden  blows  with  a  ragged  stick, 

And  one  with  a  heavy  stone. 
One  hurried  gash  Avith  a  hasty  knife,  — 

And  then  the  deed  was  done  : 
There  was  nothing  lying  at  my  foot 

But  lifeless  flesh  and  bone ! 

"  Nothing  but  lifeless  flesh  and  bone, 

That  could  not  do  me  ill ; 
And  yet  I  feared  him  all  the  more, 

For  lying  there  so  still : 
There  was  a  manhood  in  his  look, 

Tliat  miu-der  could  not  kill ! 

"  And,  lo,  the  universal  air 

Seemed  lit  with  ghastly  flame ;  — 
9* 


102         THE  DREAM  OF  EUGENE  ARAM. 

Ten  thousand  tliousand  dreadful  eyes 
Were  looking  down  in  blame  : 

I  took  the  dead  man  by  his  hand, 
And  called  upon  his  name ! 

"  O,  God !  it  made  me  quake  to  see 
Such  sense  within  the  slain  ! 

But  when  I  touched  the  lifeless  clay, 
The  blood  gushed  out  amain  ! 

For  every  clot,  a  burning  sjjot 
Was  scorcliing  in  my  brain ! 

"  My  head  was  like  an  ardent  coal. 

My  heart  as  solid  ice ; 
My  wretched,  wretched  soul,  I  knew, 

Was  at  the  devil's  price  : 
A  dozen  times  I  groaned  ;  the  dead 

Had  never  gi'oaned  but  twice  ! 

"  And  now,  from  forth  the  frowning  sky. 
From  the  heaven's  topmost  height, 

I  heard  a  voice  —  the  awful  voice 

Of  the  blood-avenging  sprite  :  — 

*  Thou  guilty  man !  take  up  thy  dead 
And  hide  it  from  my  sight ! ' 

"  I  took  the  dreary  body  up. 

And  cast  it  in  a  stream,  — 
A  sluggish  water,  black  as  ink, 

The  depth  was  so  extreme  :  — 
My  gentle  Boy,  remember  this 

Is  nothing  but  a  dream  ! 

"  Down  went  the  corse  with  a  hollow  plunge, 
And  vanished  in  the  pool ; 


THE    DREAM    OF    EUGENE    AE.A.M.  103 

Anon  I  cleansed  my  bloody  hands, 

And  Avashed  my  forehead  cool, 
And  sat  among  the  urchins  young, 

That  evening,  in  the  school. 


"  O,  Heaven !  to  think  of  then  white  souls, 
And  mine  so  black  and  grim  ! 

I  could  not  share  in  childish  i)rayer, 
Xor  join  in  evening  hymn  : 

Lilie  a  devil  of  the  pit  I  seemed, 
'^Mid  holy  chei-ubim ! 

*'  And  peace  went  with  them,  one  and  all, 
And  each  calm  pillow  spread  ; 

But  Guilt  was  my  grim  chamberlain 
That  lighted  me  to  bed ; 

And  drev/  my  midnight  cm-tains  round, 
With  fingers  bloody  red ! 

"  All  night  I  lay  in  agony, 

In  anguish  dark  and  deep  ; 
My  fevered  eyes  I  dared  not  close, 

But  stared  aghast  at  Sleep  : 
For  Sin  had  rendered  unto  her 

The  keys  of  hell  to  keep ! 

"  All  night  I  lay  in  agony. 

From  weary  chime  to  chime. 

With  one  besetting  horrid  hint. 
That  racked  me  all  the  time; 

A  mighty  yearning,  like  the  first 
Fierce  impulse  imto  crime ! 

'^  One  stem  t)Tannic  thought,  that  made 
All  other  thoughts  its  slave  \ 


104  THE    DEEAM    OP    EUGENE    ARAM. 

Stronger  and  stronger  every  pulse 
iJid  tliat  temptation  crave,  — 

Still  urging-  me  to  go  and  see 

The  Dead  Man  in  his  grave  ! 

"  Heavily  I  rose  up,  as  soon 

As  light  was  in  the  sky, 
And  sought  the  black  accursed  pool 

With  a  wild  misgiving  eye  ; 
And  I  saw  the  Dead  in  the  river  bed. 

For  the  foithless  stream  was  dry. 

"  Merrily  rose  the  lark,  and  shook 
The  dew-drop  from  its  wing ; 

But  I  never  marked  its  morning  flight, 
I  never  heard  it  sing  : 

For  I  was  stooping  once  again 
Under  the  horrid  thing. 

«  With  breathless  speed,  like  a  soul  in  chase, 

I  took  him  up  and  ran  j  — 
There  was  no  time  to  dig  a  grave 

Before  the  day  began  : 
In  a  lonesome  wood,  with  heaps  of  leaves, 

I  hid  the  murdered  man  1 

"  And  all  that  day  I  read  in  school, 

But  my  thought  was  other  where  ; 

As  soon  as  the  mid-day  task  was  done. 
In  secret  I  \\as  there  : 

And  a  mighty  Avind  had  swept  the  leaves. 
And  still  the  coree  was  bare  1 

"  Then  down  I  cast  me  on  my  face. 
And  first  began  to  weep. 


THE  DEEAM  OF  EUGENE  ARAM.  105 

For  I  knew  my  secret  then  was  one 

That  earth  refused  to  keep  : 
Or  land  or  sea,  though  he  should  be 

Ten  thousand  fathoms  deep. 

"  So  wdlls  the  fierce  avenging  Sprite, 

Till  blood  for  blood  atones  ! 
Ay,  though  he's  buried  in  a  cave, 

And  trodden  down  with  stones, 
And  years  have  rotted  off  his  flesh,  — 

The  M-orld  shall  see  his  bones  ! 

«  O,  God  !  that  horrid,  horrid  dream 

Besets  me  now  awake  ! 
Again  —  again,  with  dizzy  brain, 

The  human  life  I  take  ; 
And  my  red  right  hand  grows  raging  hot, 

Like  Q-anmer's  at  the  stake. 

"  And  still  no  peace  for  the  restless  clay 

'\^''ill  wave  or  mould  allow ; 
The  horrid  thing  jnu-sues  my  soul,  — 

It  stands  before  me  now !  " 
The  fearful  Boy  looked  up,  and  saw 

Huge  drops  upon  his  brow. 

That  very  night,  while  gentle  sleep 

The  urchin  eyelids  kissed, 
Two  stern-faced  men  set  out  from  Lynn, 

Through  the  cold  and  heavy  mist  : 
And  Eugene  Aram  walked  between, 

"With  gyves  upon  his  wrist. 


106  THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE. 


THE   HAUNTED   HOUSE. 

A   ROMANCE. 

"  A  jollj'  place,"  said  he,  "  in  times  of  old, 
But  something  ails  it  now  ;  the  place  is  curst." 

Ham-Leap  Well,  et  Wordsworth. 


PART  I. 

Some  dreams  we  have  are  nothing  else  but  dreams, 
Unnatural  and  Ml  of  contradictions  ; 
Yet  others  of  our  most  romantic  schemes 
Are  sometliing  more  than  fictions. 

It  might  be  only  on  enchanted  gound ; 

It  might  be  merely  by  a  thought's  expansion ; 

But  in  the  spuit,  or  the  flesh,  I  found 

An  old  deserted  mansion. 

A  residence  for  woman,  child,  and  man, 
A  dwelling-place,  —  and  yet  no  habitation  ; 
A  house,  —  but  under  some  prodigious  ban 
Of  excommunication. 

Unhinged  the  iron  gates  half  open  himg, 
Jarred  by  the  gusty  gales  of  many  winters. 
That  from  its  crumbled  pedestal  had  flung 
One  marble  globe  in  spHnters. 

No  dog  was  at  the  threshold,  great  or  small ; 
No  pigeon  on  the  roof —  no  household  creature  — 
No  cat  demurely  dozing  on  the  wall  — 
Not  one  domestic  feature. 


THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE.  107 

No  human  figure  stirred,  to  go  or  come  ; 
No  face  looked  forth  from  shut  or  open  casement : 
No  chimney  smoked  —  there  was  uo  sign  of  home 
From  parapet  to  basement. 

With  shattered  panes  the  gi'assy  court  was  stai-red ; 
The  time-worn  coping-stone  had  tumbled  after ; 
And  through  the  ragged  roof  the  sky  shone,  ban-ed 
AVith  nalied  beam  and  rafter. 

O'er  aU  there  hung  a  shadow  and  a  fear ; 
A  sense  of  mystery  the  spirit  daunted, 
And  said,  as  plain  as  whisper  in  the  ear, 
The  place  is  haunted  ! 

The  flower  grew  wild  and  rankly  as  the  weed, 
Koses  with  thistles  struggled  for  espial, 
And  vagrant  plants  of  parasitic  breed 
Had  overgrown  the  dial. 

But,  gay  or  gloomy,  steadfast  or  infii-m, 
No  heart  W'as  there  to  heed  the  hour's  duration  ; 
All  times  and  tides  were  lost  m  one  long  term 
Of  stagnant  desolation. 

The  Avren  had  built  -within  the  porch,  she  found 
Its  quiet  loneliness  so  sure  and  thorough ; 
And  on  the  lawn,  —  within  its  tmfy  mound,  — 
The  rabbit  made  his  burrow. 

The  rabl)it  wild  and  gray,  that  flitted  through 

The  shrubby  clumps,  and  frisked,  and  sat,  and  vanished, 

But  leism-ely  and  bold,  as  if  he  knew 

His  enemy  was  banished. 


108  THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE. 

The  wary  crow,  —  the  jiheasant  from  the  woods,  — 
Lulled  by  the  still  and  everlasting  sameness, 
Close  to  the  mansion,  like  domestic  broods, 
Fed  with  a  "  shocking  tameness." 

The  coot  was  swimming  in  the  reedy  pond, 
Beside  the  water-hen,  so  soon  affrighted ; 
And  in  the  weedy  moat  the  heron,  fond 
Of  solitude,  alighted. 

The  moping  heron,  motionless  and  stiff, 
That  on  a  stone,  as  silently  and  stilly, 
Stood,  an  apparent  sentinel,  as  if 
To  guard  the  water  lily. 

No  sound  was  heard,  except,  from  far  away, 
The  ringing  of  the  whitwall's  shrilly  laughter, 
Or,  now  and  then,  the  chatter  of  the  jay, 
That  Echo  mm-mured  after. 

But  Echo  never  mocked  the  human  tongue  ; 
Some  weighty  crime,  that  Heaven  could  not  pardon, 
A  secret  curse  on  that  old  building  himg, 
And  its  deserted  garden. 

The  beds  were  all  imtouched  by  hand  or  tool ; 
No  footstep  marked  the  damp  and  mossy  gravel. 
Each  walk  as  green  as  is  the  mantled  pool 
For  want  of  human  travel. 

The  \-ine  unpruned,  and  the  neglected  peach, 
Drooped  from  the  wall  with  which  they  used  to  grapple  ; 
And  on  the  cankered  tree,  in  easy  reach, 
Rotted  the  golden  apple. 


THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE.  109 

But  a'tt'ftilly  the  truant  shunned  the  ground, 
The  vagrant  kept  aloof,  and  daring  poacher : 
In  spite  of  gaps  that  through  the  fences  round 
In\ited  the  encroacher. 

For  over  all  there  hung  a  cloud  of  fear ; 
A  sense  of  mystery  the  spirit  daunted, 
And  said,  as  plain  as  whisper  in  the  ear, 
The  place  is  haunted  ! 

The  pear  and  quince  lay  squandered  on  the  grass ; 
The  mould  was  purple  with  unheeded  showers 
Of  bloomy  plums  —  a  wilderness  it  was 
Of  fruits,  and  weeds,  and  flowers  ! 

The  marigold  amidst  the  nettles  blew. 

The  gom-d  embraced  the  rose-bush  in  its  ramble, 

The  thistle  and  the  stock  together  grew. 

The  hollyhock  and  bramble. 

The  bear-bine  with  the  lilac  interlaced ; 

The  sturdy  burdock  choked  its  slender  neighbor, 

The  spicy  pink.     All  tokens  were  effaced 

Of  human  care  and  labor. 

The  very  yew  formality  had  trained 

To  such  a  rigid  pyramidal  stature, 

For  want  of  trimming  had  almost  regained 

The  raggedness  of  nature. 

The  fountain  was  a-diy  —  neglect  and  time 
Had  marred  the  work  of  artisan  and  mason. 
And  efts  and  croaking  frogs,  begot  of  slime, 
Sprawled  in  the  ruined  basin. 
10 


110  THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE. 

The  statue,  fallen  fi-om  its  marble  base, 
Amidst  the  refuse  leaves,  and  herbage  rotten, 
Lay  like  the  idol  of  some  bygone  race. 
Its  name  and  rites  forgotten. 

On  every  side  the  aspect  was  the  same. 
All  ruined,  desolate,  forlorn  and  savage : 
No  hand  or  foot  mthin  the  precinct  came 
To  rectify  or  ravage. 

For  over  all  there  hung  a  cloud  of  fear ; 
A  sense  of  mystery  the  spirit  daimted, 
And  said,  as  plain  as  wliisper  in  the  ear, 
The  place  is  haunted  ! 


PART  II. 

O,  very  gloomy  is  the  house  of  woe, 
Where  tears  are  falling  while  the  bell  is  knelling. 
With  all  the  dark  solemnities  which  show 
That  Death  is  in  the  dwelling  ! 

O,  very,  very  di-eary  is  the  room 
Where  love,  domestic  love,  no  longer  nestles, 
But,  smitten  by  the  common  stroke  of  doom, 
The  corpse  lies  on  the  trestles  ! 

But  house  of  woe,  and  hearse,  and  sable  pall. 
The  narrow  home  of  the  departed  mortal. 
Ne'er  looked  so  gloomy  as  that  ghostly  hall, 
With  its  deserted  portal ! 


THE    HAUXTED    HOtTSE.  1  H 

The  centipede  along  the  threshold  crept, 
The  cobweb  hung  across  in  mazj'  tangle, 
And  in  its  -winding-sheet  the  maggot  slept. 
At  every  nook  and  angle. 

The  keyhole  lodged  the  earwig  and  her  brood ; 
The  emmets  of  the  steps  had  old  possession, 
And  marched  in  search  of  then-  dimiial  food 
In  undistm'bed  procession. 

As  undisturbed  as  the  ])rehensile  cell 
Of  moth  or  maggot,  or  the  spider's  tissue ; 
For  never  foot  upon  that  threshold  fell, 
To  enter  or  to  issue. 

O'er  all  there  hmig  the  shadow  of  a  fear ; 
A  sense  of  mystery  the  spirit  daunted. 
And  said,  as  plain  as  whisper  in  the  ear. 
The  place  is  hamited ! 

Howbeit,  the  door  I  pushed  —  or  so  I  di-eamed  — 
Which  slowly,  slowl)-  gaped,  —  the  hinges  creaking 
With  such  a  rusty  eloquence,  it  seemed 
That  Time  himself  was  speaking. 

But  Time  was  dumb  within  that  mansion  old. 
Or  left  his  tale  to  the  heraldic  banners 
That  hung  from  the  coiTodcd  walls,  and  told 
Of  former  men  and  manners. 

Those  tattered  flags,  that  with  the  opened  door 
Seemed  the  old  wave  of  battle  to  remember, 
Wliile  fallen  fragments  danced  upon  the  floor 
Like  dead  leaves  in  December. 


W2  THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE. 

The  startled  bats  flew  out  —  bird  after  bird  — 
The  screech-owl  overhead  began  to  flutter, 
And  seemed  to  mock  the  cry  that  she  had  heard 
Some  dying  victim  iitter  ! 

A  shriek  that  echoed  from  the  joisted  roof, 
And  up  the  stair,  and  further  still  and  fmther, 
Till  in  some  ringing  chamber  far  aloof 
It  ceased  its  tale  of  murther  ! 

MeanAvhile  the  rusty  armor  rattled  round. 
The  banner  shuddered,  and  the  ragged  streamer ; 
All  things  the  horrid  tenor  of  the  sound 
Acknowledged  with  a  tremor. 

The  antlers,  where  the  helmet  hung  and  belt, 
Stirred  as  the  tempest  stirs  the  forest  branches, 
Or  as  the  stag  had  trembled  when  he  felt 
The  bloodhound  at  his  haimches. 

The  window  jingled  in  its  crumbled  frame, 
And  through  its  many  gaps  of  destitution 
Dolorous  moans  and  hollow  sighings  came, 
Like  those  of  dissolution. 

The  wood-louse  dropped,  and  rolled  into  a  ball. 
Touched  by  some  impulse  occult  or  mechanic ; 
And  nameless  beetles  ran  along  the  wall 
In  universal  panic. 

The  subtle  spider,  that  from  overhead 
Hung  like  a  spy  on  human  guilt  and  error. 
Suddenly  turned,  and  up  its  slender  thread 
Ran  with  a  nimble  terror. 


THE    HATXTED    HOCSE.  J 23 

The  very  stains  and  fractures  on  the  wall, 
Assuming  features  solemn  and  terrific. 
Hinted  some  tragedy  of  that  old  hall. 
Locked  up  in  hieroglyphic. 

Some  tale  that  might,  perchance,  have  solved  the  doubt, 
Wherefore  amongst  those  flags  so  dull  and  livid 
The  banner  of  the  Bloody  ILlnd  shone  out. 
So  ominously  vi\id. 

Some  key  to  that  inscinitable  appeal, 
Wliich  made  the  very  fi-ame  of  Natm-e  quiver, 
And  every  thrilling  nei-ve  and  fibre  feel 
So  ague-like  a  shiver. 

For  over  all  there  hunsr  a  cloud  of  fear  5 
A  sense  of  mystery  the  spirit  daunted. 
And  said,  as  plain  as  ■whisper  in  the  ear, 
The  place  is  haunted ! 

If  but  a  rat  had  lingered  in  the  house, 
To  lure  the  thought  into  a  social  channel! 
But  not  a  rat  remained,  or  tiny  mouse, 
To  squeak  tehind  the  paneL 

Huge  drops  rolled  down  the  walls,  as  if  they  wept; 
And  where  the  cricket  used  to  chirp  so  shrilly 
The  toad  was  squatting,  and  the  lizard  crept 
On  that  damp  hearth  and  chilly. 

For  years  no  cheerful  blaze  had  sjiarkled  there, 
Or  glanced  on  coat  of  buff  or  knightly  metal ; 
The  slug  was  crawling  on  the  vacant  chair, — 
The  snail  upon  the  settle. 
10* 


114:  ^^^   HAUNTED   HOUSE. 

The  floor  was  redolent  of  mould  and  must, 
The  fungus  in  the  rotten  seams  had  quickened ; 
While  on  tlie  oaken  table  coats  of  dust 
Perennially  had  tliickened. 

No  mark  of  leathern  jack  or  metal  can, 
No  cup,  no  horn,  no  hospitable  token,  — 
AU  social  ties  between  that  boai'd  and  mau 
Had  long  ago  been  broken. 

There  was  so  foul  a  rumor  in  the  air, 
The  shadow  of  a  presence  so  atrocious. 
No  human  creature  could  have  feasted  there. 
Even  the  most  ferocious. 

For  over  all  there  hung  a  cloud  of  fear  j 
A  sense  of  mystery  the  spirit  daunted. 
And  said,  as  plain  as  whisper  in  the  ear. 
The  place  is  haunted ! 


PART  III. 

Tis  hard  for  human  actions  to  accovmt, 
Whether  from  reason  or  from  impulse  only  — 
But  some  internal  prompting  bade  me  mount 
The  gloomy  stairs  and  lonely. 

Those  gloomy  stairs,  so  dark,  and  damp,  and  cold. 
With  odors  as  from  bones  and  relics  carnal. 
Deprived  of  rite  and  consecrated  mould. 
The  chapel  vault  orchameL 


THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE.  115 

Those  dreary  stairs,  where  -\idth  the  sounding  stress 
Of  every  step  so  many  echoes  blended, 
The  mind,  with  dai-k  misgi^•ings,  feared  to  guess 
How  many  feet  ascended. 

The  tempest  with  its  spoils  had  drifted  In, 
Till  each  unwholesome  stone  was  darkly  spotted, 
As  thickly  as  the  leopard's  dappled  skin. 
With  leaves  that  rankly  rotted. 

The  air  was  thick,  and  in  the  upper  gloom 

The  bat  —  or  something-  in  its  shape  —  was  winging ; 

And  on  the  wall,  as  chilly  as  a  tomb. 

The  death's-head  moth  was  clinging.   . 

That  mystic  moth,  which,  with  a  sense  profound 
Of  all  unholy  presence,  augurs  truly  ; 
And  with  a  grim  significance  flits  round 
The  taper  burning  bluely. 

Such  omens  in  the  place  there  seemed  to  be, 
At  every  crooked  turn,  or  on  the  landing. 
The  straining  eyeball  was  prepared  to  see 
Some  apparition  stancUng. 

For  over  all  there  hung  a  cloud  of  fear ; 
A  sense  of  mystery  the  sj)irit  daunted. 
And  said,  as  plain  as  whisper  in  the  ear, 
The  place  is  haunted  ! 

Yet  no  portentous  shape  the  sight  amazed  ; 
Each  object  plain,  and  tangible,  and  valid ; 
But  from  their  tarnished  frames  dark  figures  gazed. 
And  faces  spectre-palHd. 


l\Q  THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE. 

Not  merel)'  M'ith  the  mimic  life  that  lies 

Within  the  compass  of  art's  simulation ; 

Their  souls  were  looking  through  theu-  painted  eyes 

With  awful  speculation. 

On  every  lip  a  speechless  horror  dwelt ; 
On  every  brow  the  burthen  of  affliction  ; 
The  old  ancestral  spirits  knew  and  felt 
The  house's  malediction. 

Such  earnest  woe  their  features  overcast, 

They  might  have  stirred,  or  f-ighed,  or  wept,  or  spoken; 

But,  save  the  hollow  moaning  of  the  blast, 

The  stillness  was  unbroken. 

No  other  sound  or  stir  of  life  was  there. 
Except  my  steps  in  solitary  clamber. 
From  flight  to  flight,  from  humid  stair  to  stair, 
From  chamber  into  chamber. 

Deserted  rooms  of  luxury  and  state. 
That  old  magnificence  had  richly  furnished 
With  pictures,  cabinets  of  ancient  date, 
And  carvings  gilt  and  burnished. 

Rich  hangings,  storied  by  the  needle's  art, 
With  Scripture  history  or  classic  fable  ; 
But  all  had  faded,  save  one  ragged  part. 
Where  Cain  was  slaying  Abel. 

The  silent  Avaste  of  mildew  and  the  moth 
Had  marred  the  tissue  with  a  partial  ravage  ; 
But  undecaying  frowned  upon  the  cloth 
Each  feature  stern  and  savage. 


THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE.  117 

The  sk}'  was  pale  ;  the  cloud  a  thing  of  doubt  ; 
Some  hues  were  fresh,  and  some  decayed  and  duller ; 
But  still  the  Bloodt  Hand  shone  strangely  out 
With  vehemence  of  color ! 

The  Bloody  Hand  that  with  a  lui-id  stain 
Shone  on  the  dusty  floor,  a  dismal  token, 
Projected  fi-om  the  casement's  painted  pane, 
Where  all  beside  was  broken. 

The  Bloody  Hand  significant  of  crime, 
That,  glaring  on  the  old  heraldic  banner, 
Had  kept  its  crimson  unimpaired  by  time, 
In  such  a  wondi'ous  manner  ! 

O'er  all  there  hung  the  shadow  of  a  fear ; 
A  sense  of  mystery  the  spirit  daunted, 
And  said,  as  plain  as  whisper  in  the  ear. 
The  place  is  haunted  ! 

The  death-watch  ticked  behind  the  panelled  oak, 
Inexplicable  tremors  shook  the  arras. 
And  echoes  strange  and  mystical  awoke, 
The  fancy  to  embarrass. 

Prophetic  hints  that  filled  the  soul  with  dread, 
But  through  one  gloomy  entrance  pointing  mostly. 
The  while  some  secret  inspiration  said, 
That  chamber  is  the  ghostly  ! 

Across  the  door  no  gossamer  festoon 

Swung  pendulous  —  no  web  —  no  dusty  fringes, 

No  silky  chrysalis  or  white  cocoon 

About  its  nooks  and  hinges. 


]^Jg  THE    HAUNTED    HOUSE. 

The  spider  shunned  the  interdicted  room, 
The  moth,  the  beetle,  and  the  lly  were  banished, 
And  where  the  sunbeam  fell  athwart  the  gloom 
The  very  midge  had  vanished. 

One  lonely  ray  that  glanced  upon  a  bed, 
As  if  with  awful  aim  du-ect  and  certain. 
To  show  the  Bloody  Hand  m  burning  red 
Embroidered  on  the  cmtahi. 

And  yet  no  gory  stain  was  on  the  quilt  — 
The  pillow  in  its  place  had  slowly  rotted ; 
The  floor  alone  retained  the  trace  of  guilt. 
Those  boards  obscm-ely  spotted. 

Obscurely  spotted  to  the  door,  and  thence 
"With  mazy  doubles  to  the  grated  casement  — 
O,  what  a  tale  they  told  of  fear  intense. 
Of  hoiTor  and  amazement ! 

What  human  creatm-e  in  the  dead  of  night 
Had  coursed  like  hunted  hare  that  cruel  distance  ? 
Had  sought  the  door,  the  window,  in  his  flight, 
Stri^insr  for  dear  existence  ? 


'O 


What  shrieking  spirit  in  that  bloody  room 
Its  mortal  frame  had  violently  quitted  ?  — 
Across  the  sunbeam,  with  a  sudden  gloom, 
A  ghostly  shadow  flitted. 

Across  the  simbeam,  and  along  the  wall. 
But  painted  on  the  air  so  very  dimly. 
It  hardly  veiled  the  tapestry  at  all. 
Or  portrait  frowning  grimly. 


THE    BKIDGE    OF    SIGHS.  Ii9 

O'er  all  there  hiing  the  shadow  of  a  fear; 
A  sense  of  mystery  the  spirit  daunted, 
And  said,  as  plain  as  whisper  in  the  ear, 
The  place  is  haunted ! 


THE    BRIDGE   OF   SIGHS. 

"Drowned!  drowned !"  — Hamlet, 

One  more  unfortimate, 
■Weary-  of  breath, 
Rashly  importunate, 
Gone  to  her  death  I 

Take  her  up  tenderly. 
Lift  her  with  care  ; 
Fashioned  so  slenderly, 
Young,  and  so  fair ! 

Look  at  her  garments 
Clinging  like  cerements ; 
"Whilst  the  wave  constantly 
Drips  from  her  clothing ; 
Take  her  up  instantly, 
Lo\-ing,  not  loathing.  — 

Touch  her  not  scornfully ; 
Think  of  her  mournfully, 
Gently  and  humanly ; 
Not  of  the  stains  of  her, 
All  that  remams  of  her 
Now  is  pure  womanly. 


120  THE   BKIDGE    OF   SIGHS. 

Make  no  deep  scrutiny 
Into  her  mutiny 
Rash  and  undutiful : 
Past  all  dishonor, 
Death  has  left  on  her 
Only  the  beautiful. 

Still,  for  all  slips  of  hers,** 
One  of  Eve's  family  — 
Wipe  those  poor  lips  of  hers 
Oozing  so  clammily. 

Loop  up  her  tresses 
Escaped  from  the  comb. 
Her  fan*  auburn  tresses ; 
Whilst  wonderment  guesses 
Where  was  her  home  ? 

Who  was  her  father  ? 
Who  Avas  her  mother  ? 
Had  she  a  sister  ? 
Had  she  a  brother  ? 
Or  was  there  a  dearer  one 
Still,  and  a  nearer  one 
Yet,  than  all  other  ? 

Alas  for  the  rarity 
Of  Christian  charity 
Under  the  sun ! 
O,  it  was  pitiful ! 
Near  a  whole  city  full. 
Home  she  had  none. 

Sisterly,  brotherly, 
Fatherly,  motherly 


THE    BRIDGE    OF    SIGHS.  121 

Feelings  had  changed : 
Love,  by  harsh  evidence, 
Thi'owTi  from  its  eminence  ; 
Even  God's  providence 
Seeming  estranged. 

Where  the  lamps  quiver 
So  far  in  the  river, 
With  many  a  hght 
From  window  and  casement. 
From  garret  to  basement, 
She  stood  with  amazement, 
Houseless  by  night. 

The  bleak  wind  of  March 
Made  her  tremble  and  shiver ; 
But  not  the  dark  arch, 
Or  the  black  flowing  river : 
Mad  from  Ufe's  history, 
Glad  to  death's  mystery 
Swift  to  be  hurled  — 
Any  where,  any  where 
Out  of  the  world  ! 

In  she  plunged  boldly. 
No  matter  how  coldly 
The  rough  river  ran,  — 
Over  the  brink  of  it, 
Picture  it  —  think  of  it, 
Dissolute  man ! 
Lave  in  i,t,  drink  of  it. 
Then,  if  you  can ! 

Take  her  up  tenderly, 
Lift  her  mth  care ; 
11 


122  THE    BRIDGE    OF   SIGHS. 

Fashioned  so  slenderly, 
Young,  and  so  iair ! 

Ere  her  limbs  frigidly 
Stiffen  too  rigidly, 
Decently,  —  kindly,  — 
Smooth,  and  compose  them ; 
And  her  eyes,  close  them, 
Staring  so  bUndly  ! 

Dreadfully  staring 
Through  muddy  impurity, 
As  when  with  the  daring 
Last  look  of  despairing 
Fixed  on  futurity. 

Perishing  gloomily, 
Spurred  by  contumely. 
Cold  inhumanity, 
Biuming  insanity. 
Into  her  rest.  — 
Cross  her  hands  humbly. 
As  if  praying  dumbly. 
Over  her  breast ! 

Owning  her  weakness. 
Her  evil  behavior. 
And  lea%ing,  with  meekness, 
Her  sins  to  her  Saviour ! 


THE    SOXG    OF    THE    SHIRT.  123 


THE   SONG  OF   THE  SHHIT. 

With  fingers  weary  and  worn, 

With  eyelids  heavy  and  red, 
A  woman  sat  in  imwomanly  rags, 

Plying  her  needle  and  thread  — 
Stitch!  stitch!  stitch! 
In  poverty,  hunger,  and  -dii-t. 

And  still  with  a  voice  of  dolorous  pitch 
She  sang  the  "  Song  of  the  Shirt ! " 

"Work!  work!  work! 
While  the  cock  is  crowing  aloof ! 

And  work  —  work  —  work. 
Till  the  stars  shine  through  the  roof! 
It's  O  !  to  be  a  slave 

Along  with  the  barbarous  Turk, 
Where  woman  has  never  a  soul  to  save, 

K  this  is  Christian  work ! 

"  Work  —  work  —  work 
Till  the  brain  begins  to  swim ! 

Work  —  work  —  work 
Till  the  eyes  are  heavy  and  dim  ! 
Seam,  and  gusset,  and  band. 

Band,  and  gusset,  and  seam. 
Till  over  the  buttons  I  fall  asleep. 

And  sew  them  on  in  a  dream  ! 

"  O,  men,  with  sisters  dear ! 

O,  men,  with  mothers  and  wives  ! 
It  is  not  linen  you're  wearing  out, 

But  human  creatures'  Hves ! 


124  THE    SOXG    OF    TUB    SHIRT. 

Stitch  —  stitch  —  stitch, 
In  poverty,  hunger,  and  dirt. 
Sewing  at  once,  with  a  double  thread, 
A  shroud  as  well  as  a  shirt. 

"But  why  do  I  talk  of  death ? 

That  phantom  of  grisly  bone, 
I  hardly  fear  his  terrible  shape. 

It  seems  so  like  my  own  — 
It  seems  so  Uke  my  own, 

Because  of  the  fasts  I  keep  ; 
O,  God  !  that  bread  should  be  so  dear, 

And  flesh  and  blood  so  cheap  ! 

"  Work  —  work  —  work ! 

My  labor  never  flags  ; 
And  what  are  its  wages  ?     A  bed  of  straw, 

A  crust  of  bread  —  and  rags. 
That  shattered  roof —  and  this  naked  floor - 

A  table  —  a  broken  chair  — 
And  a  wall  so  blank,  my  shadow  I  thank 

For  sometimes  falling  there 


,  I 


"  Work  —  work  —  work  ! 

Prom  weary  chime  to  chime. 
Work  —  work  —  work, 

As  prisoners  work  for  crime ! 
Band,  and  gusset,  and  seam. 

Seam,  and  gusset,  and  band. 
Till  the  heart  is  sick,  and  the  brain  benumbed. 

As  well  as  the  weary  hand. 


"  Work  —  work  —  work, 


In  the  dull  December  light, 


THE    SONG    OF    TIIK    SHIRT.  125 

And  work  —  work  —  work, 
When  the  weather  is  warm  and  bright  — 
While  underneath  the  eaves 

The  brooding  SM'allows  cling, 
As  if  to  show  me  their  sunny  backs, 

And  twit  me  with  the  spring, 

"  O  !  but  to  breathe  the  breath 
Of  the  cowsHp  and  primrose  sweet  — 

With  the  sky  above  my  head, 
And  the  grass  beneath  my  feet. 
For  only  one  short  hour 

To  feel  as  I  used  to  feel, 
Before  I  knew  the  woes  of  want, 

And  the  walk  that  costs  a  meal ! 

"  O  !  but  for  one  short  hour ! 

A  respite  however  brief! 
No  blessed  leisure  for  love  or  hope, 

But  only  time  for  grief ! 
A  little  weeping  would  ease  my  heart, 

But  in  their  briny  bed 
My  tears  must  stop,  for  every  drop 

Hinders  needle  and  thread ! " 

With  fingers  weary  and  worn, 

With  eyeHds  heavy  and  red, 
A  woman  sat  in  unwomanly  rags. 

Plying  her  needle  and  thread  — 
Stitch  !  stitch  !  stitch  ! 

In  poverty,  hunger,  and  dirt. 
And  still  with  a  voice  of  dolorous  pitch,  — 
Would  that  its  tone  could  reach  the  rich !  — 

She  sang  this  "  Song  of  the  Sliirt ! " 
11* 


120  'i*»»K  hAiiy'n  UHKMni. 


'nm   7<AI)Y'K    DliKAM. 

Till',  hilly  lay  in  Jn-r  \)cA, 

'  1l<;r  c';ij';fi  ko  warm  arxJ  Koft, 

JJrit.  h'rr  «)';»;;>  wax  r(rMt.l<;»»  and  Ijrokrti  xlill ; 

For,  turning  nfUm  and  oft 
l''r'/(n  null;  Ut  «id<;,  (»h«  »fiiilU,'r«;d  and  rrioant'd, 

And  f/^f,!«'d  ficr  ;inn«  aloft 

At,  laHt  «fi«;  H\nr\\i;il  H]}, 

And  j(az(r(J  on  \hi:  V(u;ant  air, 
Will)  a  look  of  aw<',  a«  If  «li<:  naw 

Honx;  fin-fulfnl  j>lianto;n  tli'rro  — 
Atifl  then  in  thi;  j)ill<nv  Hhc  buried  lurr  fa/;o 

I''rofn  vi«ion«  ill  t*;  bear. 

'I  |j':  \'i:ry  curUin  cliook, 

J  for  Urrror  waw  m)  cxtrofno  5 
And  Uio  light  tliat,  fi-ll  on  t,li<;  broidcrcl  <jiiilt. 

Kept,  a  l/crnnloiiM  y)i-'.uu  ; 
Add  lur  vn\fA;  wa«  liollow,  and  hbook  iih  f.li'-  frlr;d  ; 

"  O,  ni(j !  tlittt  ttwful  dr«»im  ! 

"'I'liat,  vviiry,  Wf-ary  walk. 

In  l,lj(;  cliurcl)  yard'H  di«mal  >^roiind  ! 
A/id  tlirjxfj  horriblo  1,liin^«,  willi  nliady  wingx, 

'I'liaf- <;am<)  an«l  (liUcrl  round, — 
n<;tlli,  dfraUi,  and  notliinj/  but,  dcafli, 

l/i  «'V(,'ry  ci^lit,  iind  I'.ound  ! 

"  And,  O !  ili'tNi!  rnaldctm  youtig, 
Wlio  wrou}j;lit,  in  Ih.il,  dreary  room, 


Tin;  iady's  i>m:\M.  |  -jy 

"With  fij;uros  ilroopiujj:  and  s|hh-Ivos  Ihin, 

And  t'lurks  without  a  bloom  ;  — 
Anil  the  voice  that  crii-il,  '  For  the  poiup  of  pritli-, 

"\\'i>  hiistc  to  all  I'urly  toml) ! 

",'  For  tlu'  pomp  and  iilrasnrc  of  prido, 

"\Vo  toil  liko  AtVic  vshncs, 
And  only  to  oarii  a  honu>  at  last, 

^\'lu'^('  yotulrr  (•yi)ri\ss  wavrs;' 
And  tlicii  tliry  pointed —  I  never  saw 

A  ground  so  Inll  of  graves  ! 

"And  still  the  eollins  eame, 

Willi  llieir  sorrowful  trains  and  slow; 

Collin  arter  coliin  still, 

A  sad  and  Niekening  show  ; 

From  grief  exempt,  1  never  had  dreamt 
Of  sneh  a  wor!<l  of  woo! 

"  Of  the  hearts  that  daily  break, 

Of  the  tears  that  hourly  fall, 
Of  the  many,  many  Ironbles  of  life, 

That  grieve  this  earthly  ball  — 
Disease,  and  Hunger,  and  Tain,  and  Want, 

Ibit  now  I  dreami  of  them  all! 

"  l''iir  tlic  blind  and  the  cripple  were  there, 

And  the  biilie  that   jiined  for  breail. 
And  the  houseless  man,  and  the  \\ido\v  poor 

Who  begged —  to  bury  the  dead  ; 
The  naked,  alas!   that  1  miglil  lia\e  elad, 

The  I'lmishcd  I  miglil  have  fed  ! 

"  The  sorrow  I  might  hav(<  soothed, 
And  I  ill'  niiicgarded  ti'ars  ; 


128  THE    lady's    dream. 

For  many  a  tlironging  shape  was  there, 
From  long-foi-gotten  years,  — 

Ay,  even  the  poor  rejected  Moor, 
Who  raised  my  childish  fears  ! 

"  Each  pleading  look,  that  long  ago 
I  scanned  with  a  heedless  ej-e. 

Each  face  was  gazing  as  plainly  there 
As  when  I  passed  it  by  : 

Woe,  woe  for  me  if  the  past  should  be 
Thus  present  when  I  die  ! 

"  No  need  of  sulphureous  lake, 

No  need  of  fiery  coal. 
But  only  that  crowd  of  human  kind 

Who  wanted  pity  and  dole  — 
In  everlasting  retrospect  — 

Will  wring  my  sinful  soul ! 

"  Alas  !  I  have  walked  through  life 

Too  heedless  where  I  trod ; 
Nay,  helping  to  trample  my  fellow-worm, 

And  fill  the  burial  sod  — 
Forgetting  that  even  the  sparrow  falls 

Not  unmarked  of  God ! 

"  I  drank  the  richest  draughts  ; 

And  ate  whatever  is  good  — 
Fish,  and  flesh,  and  fowl,  and  fruit. 

Supplied  my  hungry  mood  ; 
But  I  never  remembered  the  wretched  ones 

That  starve  for  want  of  food  ! 

"  I  dressed  as  the  noble  dress, 
-  In  cloth  of  silver  and  gold, 


THE    WORKHOUSE    CLOCK.  129 

With  silk,  and  satin,  and  costly  iui\s, 

In  many  an  ample  fold  ; 
But  I  never  remembered  the  naked  limbs 

That  froze  with  winter's  cold. 

«  The  wounds  I  might  have  healed ! 

The  human  sorrow  and  smart! 
And  yet  it  never  Avas  in  my  soul 

To  play  so  ill  a  part ; 
But  e\i\  is  wrought  by  want  of  thought, 

As  well  as  want  of  heart !  " 

She  clasped  her  fervent  hands, 

And  the  tears  began  to  stream  ; 
Large,  and  bitter,  and  fast  they  fell, 

Remorse  was  so  extreme  ; 
And  yet,  O,  yet,  that  many  a  dame 

"Would  dream  the  Lady's  Dream ! 


THE  WORKHOUSE  CLOCT-L. 

AN    ALLEGORY. 

There's  a  murmur  in  the  air, 
A  noise  in  every  street  — 
The  murmur  of  many  tongues, 
The  noise  of  numerous  feet  — 
While  round  the  workhouse  door 
The  laboring  classes  flock. 
For  why  ?  —  the  overseer  of  the  poor 
Is  setting  the  workhouse  clock. 


130  THE    WoIiKUOUSE    CLOCK. 

Who  does  not  hear  the  tramp 
Of  tiiousands  sjjeediiig-  along 
Of  either  sex  and  various  stamp, 
Sickly,  a-ippled,  or  strong, 
Walking,  limping,  creeping 
From  coui't,  and  alley,  and  lane, 
But  all  in  one  direction  sweeping-, 
Lilve  rivers  that  seek  the  main? 
Who  does  not  see  them  sally 
From  mill,  and  gai-ret,  and  room, 
In  lane,  and  court,  and  aUey, 
From  homes  in  poverty's  lowest  valley, 
Fm-nished  with  shuttle  and  loom  — 
Poor  slaves  of  Civilization's  galley  — 
And  in  the  road  and  footways  rally. 
As  if  for  the  day  of  doom  ? 

Some,  of  hardly  human  form. 
Stunted,  crooked,  and  crippled  by  toil ; 
Dingy  with  smoke  and  dust  and  oil, 
And  smii'ched  besides  -with  vicious  soil. 
Clustering,  mustering,  all  in  a  swarm. 
Father,  mother,  and  careful  child, 
Looking  as  if  it  had  never  smiled  — 
The  seamstress,  lean,  and  weary,  and  wan, 
With  only  the  ghosts  of  garments  on  — 
The  weaver,  her  sallow  neighbor. 
The  grim  and  sooty  artisan  ; 
Every  soul  —  child,  woman,  or  man. 
Who  lives  —  or  dies  —  by  labor. 

Stirred  by  an  overwhelming  zeal. 
Arid  social  impulse,  a  terrible  throng ! 
Leaving  shuttle,  aird  needle,  and  wheel. 


THE    WOKKHUUSE    CLOCK.  Jg^ 

Fui-nace,  and  grindstone,  spindle,  and  reel, 

Thread,  and  yarn,  and  iron,  and  steel  — 

Yea,  rest  and  the  yet  untasted  meal  — 

Gushing,  rushing,  crushing  along, 

A  very  torrent  of  Man  ! 

Urged  by  the  sighs  of  sorrow  and  wrong, 

Grown  at  last  to  a  hurricane  strong. 

Stop  its  course  who  can  ! 

Stop  who  can  its  onward  coiu'se 

And  irresistible  moral  force  ; 

O  !  vain  and  idle  dream  ! 

For  surely  as  men  are  all  akin, 

Whether  of  fair^or  sable  skin, 

According  to  Natui'e's  scheme, 

That  human  movement  contains  vnthin 

A  blood-power  stronger  than  steam. 

Onward,  onward,  with  hasty  feet. 
They  swarm  —  and  westward  still  — 
Masses  born  to  drink  and  eat. 
But  starAing  amidst  Whitechapel's  meat. 
And  famishing  down  Cornhill ! 
Through  the  Poultry  —  but  still  unfed  — 
Christian  charity,  hang  your  head  ! 
Hungry  —  passing  the  Street  of  Bread ; 
Thirsty  —  the  Street  of  Milk  ; 
Ragged  —  beside  the  Ludgatc  mart, 
So  gorgeous,  through  mechanic  art. 
With  cotton,  and  wool,  and  silk ! 

At  last,  before  that  door 
That  bears  so  many  a  knock 
Ere  ever  it  opens  to  sick  or  poor, 
Like  sheep  they  huddle  and  flock  — 


132  'I'HE    LAY    OF    THE    LABORER. 

And  would  that  all  the  good  and  wise 
Could  see  the  million  of  hollow  eyes, 
With  a  gleam  derived  from  hope  and  the  skies, 
Uptmuied  to  the  workhouse  clock  ! 

O  !  that  the  parish  powers. 
Who  regulate  labor's  hours. 
The  daily  amount  of  human  trial, 
Weariness,  pain,  and  self-denial. 
Would  turn  from  the  artificial  dial 
That  striketh  ten  or  eleven. 
And  go,  for  once,  by  that  older  one 
That  stands  in  the  light  of  Nature's  sun. 
And  takes  its  time  from  Heaven  ! 


THE  LAY   OF   THE  LABORER. 

A  SPADE  !  a  rake !  a  hoe  ! 

A  pickaxe,  or  a  bill ! 
A  hook  to  reap,  or  a  scythe  to  mow, 

A  flail,  or  what  ye  will  — 
And  here's  a  ready  hand 

To  2)ly  the  needful  tool, 
And  skilled  enough,  by  lessons  rough, 

In  Labor's  rugged  school. 

To  hedge,  or  dig  the  ditch, 

To  lop  or  fell  the  tree. 
To  lay  the  swarth  on  the  sultry  field, 

Or  plough  the  stubborn  lea ; 


THE    LAY    OF   THE    LABORER.  133 

The  harvest  stack  to  bind, 
•     The  wheaten  rick  to  thatch, 
And  never  fear  in  my  pouch  to  find 
The  tinder  or  the  match. 

To  a  flaming  barn  or  farm 

My  fancies  never  roam  ; 
The  fire  I  yearn  to  kindle  and  burn 

Is  on  the  hearth  of  home  ; 
Where  children  huddle  and  crouch 

Through  dark  long  winter  days, 
Where  starving  children  huddle  and  crouch, 

To  see  the  cheerful  rays, 
A-glowing  on  the  haggard  cheek, 

And  not  in  the  haggard's  blaze ! 

To  Him  who  sends  a  drought 

To  parch  the  fields  forlorn. 
The  rain  to  flood  the  meadows  with  mud, 

The  blight  to  blast  the  corn. 
To  Him  I  leave  to  guide 

The  bolt  in  its  crooked  path. 
To  strike  the  miser's  rick,  and  show 

The  skies  blood-red  with  wrath. 

A  spade  !  a  rake  !  a  hoe  ! 

A  pickaxe,  or  a  bill ! 
A  hook  to  reap,  or  a  scythe  to  mow, 
,       A  flail,  or  what  ye  will  — 
The  corn  to  thrash,  or  the  hedge  to  plash, 

The  market-team  to  drive. 
Or  mend  the  fence  by  the  cover  side, 
And  leave  the  game  alive. 
12 


loi  THE    LAY    OF    THE    LABORER. 

Ay,  onlj'  give  me  work, 

And  then  you  need  not  fear 
That  I  shall  snare  his  worship's  hare, 

Or  kill  his  grace's  deer  ; 
Break  into  his  lordsliip's  house, 

To  steal  the  plate  so  rich ; 
Or  leave  the  yeoman  that  had  a  purse 

To  welter  in  the  ditch. 

Wherever  Natm-e  needs, 

Wherever  Labor  calls, 
No  job  I'll  sliirk  of  the  hardest  work, 

To  shun  the  workhouse  walls ; 
Where  savage  laws  begrudge 

The  pauper  babe  its  breath, 
And  doom  a  wife  to  a  widow's  liie, 

Before  her  partner's  death. 

My  only  claim  is  this, 

With  labor  stiff  and  stark 
By  lawful  turn  my  Hving  to  earn. 

Between  the  light  and  dark ; 
My  daily  bread  and  nightly  bed. 

My  bacon,  and  drop  of  beer  — 
But  all  from  the  hand  that  holds  the  land. 

And  none  from  the  overseer  ! 

No  parish  money,  or  loaf. 

No  pauper  badges  for  me,  — 
A  son  of  the  soil  by  right  of  toil 

Entitled  to  my  fee. 
No  alms  1  ask,  give  me  my  task ; 

Here  are  the  arm,  the  leg, 
The  strength,  the  sinews  of  a  man, 

To  work,  and  not  to  beg. 


PAIR    INES.  135 

Still  one  of  Adam's  heirs, 

Though  doomed  by  chance  of  bulh 
To  dress  so  mean,  and  to  eat  the  lean 

Instead  of  the  fat  of  the  earth  ; 
To  make  such  humble  meals 

As  honest  labor  can, 
A  bone  and  a  crust,  wth  a  grace  to  God, 

And  little  thanks  to  man  1 

A  spade  I  a  rake  !  a  hoe  ] 

A  pickaxe,  or  a  bill  ] 
^  hook  to  reap,  or  a  scjthe  to  mow, 

A  flail,  or  what  ve  will  — 
Whatever  the  tool  to  ply, 

Here  is  a  willing  di-udge. 
With  muscle  and  limb,  and  woe  to  hira 

Who  does  their  pay  begrudge  I 

Who  every  weeldy  score 

Docks  labor's  little  mite, 
BestoM's  an  the  jx)or  at  the  temple  door, 

But  robbed  them  over  night. 
The  verj-  shilling  he  hoped  to  save, 

As  health  and  morals  fail. 
Shall  visit  me  in  the  New  Bastile 

The  Spital,  or  the  Gaol ! 


FAIR  INES. 

O  SAW  ye  not  fair  Ines  ? 
She's  gone  into  the  west. 
To  dazzle  when  the  sun  is  down. 
And  rob  the  wo)id  of  rest; 


336  FAIR    INES. 

Slie  took  our  daylight  with  her, 
The  smiles  that  we  love  best, 
With  morning  blushes  on  her  cheek. 
And  pearls  upon  her  breast. 

0  turn  again,  fair  Ines, 
Before  the  fall  of  night, 

For  fear  the  moon  should  shine  alone. 

And  stai-s  unrivalled  bright  ; 

And  blessed  will  the  lover  be 

That  walks  beneath  their  light, 

And  breathes  the  love  against  thy  cheek 

1  dare  not  even  wiite  ! 

Would  I  had  been,  fair  Ines, 

That  gallant  cavalier, 

Who  rode  so  gayly  by  thy  side, 

And  whis])ered  thee  so  near!  — 

Were  there  no  bonny  dames  at  home,, 

Or  no  true  iovei-s  here, 

That  he  should  cross  the  seas  to  win 

The  dearest  of  the  dear  ? 

I  saw  thee,  lovely  Ines, 

Descend  along  the  shore, 

With  bands  of  noble  gentlemen,. 

And  banners  waved  before  : 

And  gentle  youth  and  maidens  gay^ 

And  snowy  plumes  they  wore ;  — 

It  would  have  been  a  beauteous  dream, 

—  If  it  had  been  no  more ! 

Alas,  alas  !  fair  Ines, 

She  went  away  with,  song^ 


THE    DEPARTURE    OF    SUMMER.  137 

With  music  waiting  on  her  steps, 

And  shoutings  of  the  throng; 

But  some  were  sad,  and  felt  no  mirth, 

But  only  music's  -wTong, 

Li  sounds  that  sang  farewell,  farewell, 

To  her  you've  loved  so  long. 

Farewell,  farewell,  fair  Lies  ! 

That  vessel  never  bore 

So  fair  a  lady  on  its  deck, 

Nor  danced  so  light  before,  — 

Alas  for  pleasure  on  the  sea, 

And  sorrow  on  the  shore  ! 

The  smile  that  blest  one  lover's  heart 

Has  broken  many  more  ! 


THE  DEPARTURE  OF   SUINIMER. 

Summer  is  gone  on  swallows'  -nings, 
And  eatfh  has  buried  all  her  flowers  : 
No  more  the  lark,  the  linnet  sings, 
But  silence  sits  in  faded  bowers. 
There  is  a  shadow  on  the  plain 
Of  Winter  ere  he  comes  again,  — 
There  is  in  woods  a  solemn  sound 
Of  hollow  warnings  whispered  round, 
As  Echo  in  her  deep  recess 
For  once  had  turned  a  pro])hetess. 
Shuddering  Autumn  stojjs  to  list. 
And  breathes  his  fear  in  sudden  sighs, 
With  clouded  face,  and  hazel  eyes 
That  quench  themselves,  and  hide  in  mist. 
12* 


138  THE    UEPARTURS    OF    SUMMER. 

Yes,  Summer's  gone  lilte  pageant  bright ; 
Its  glorious  dajs  of  golden  light 
Are  gone  —  the  mimic  suns  that  quiver, 
Then  melt  in  Time's  dark-flowing  river. 
Gone  the  sweetly-scented  breeze 
That  spoke  in  music  to  the  trees  ; 
Gone  for  damp  and  chilly  breath, 
As  if  fresh  blown  o'er  marble  seas, 
Or  newly  from  the  lungs  of  Death. 
Gone  its  virgin  roses'  blushes, 
Warm  as  when  Am'ora  rushes 
Freshly  from  the  god's  embrace, 
With  all  her  shame  upon  her  face. 
Old  Time  hath  laid  them  in  the  mould ; 
Sure  he  is  blind  as  well  as  old, 
Whose  hand  relentless  never  spares 
Young  cheeks  so  beauty-bright  as  theirs ! 
Gone  are  the  flame-eyed  lovers  now 
From  where  so  blushing-blest  they  tarried 
Under  the  hawthorn's  blossom-bough, 
Gone ;  for  Day  and  Night  are  married. 
All  the  light  of  love  is  fled :  — 
Alas !  that  negro  breasts  should  hide 
The  lips  that  were  so  rosy  red, 
At  morning  and  at  even-tide ! 

Delightful  Summer !  then  adieu 
Till  thou  shalt  visit  us  anew  : 
But  who  without  regretful  sigh 
Can  say  adieu,  and  see  thee  fly  ? 
Not  he  that  e'er  hath  felt  thy  power, 
His  joy  expanding  like  a  flower 
That  Cometh  after  rain  and  snow. 
Looks  up  at  heaven,  and  learns  to  glow  :  — 


THE    DEPAETURK    OF    SUMMEB.  139 

Not  he  that  fled  from  Babel-strife 
To  the  green  Sabbath-land  of  Hfe, 
To  dodge  dull  Care  'mid  clustered  trees, 
And  cool  his  forehead  in  the  breeze,  — 
Whose  spirit,  wearj'-worn  perchance, 
Shook  from  its  wings  a  weight  of  grief, 
And  perched  upon  an  aspen-leaf, 
For  every  breath  to  make  it  dance. 

Farewell !  —  on  wings  of  sombre  stain. 
That  blacken  in  the  last  blue  skies, 
Thou  fly'st ;  but  thou  wilt  come  again 
On  the  gay  wings  of  butterflies. 
Spring  at  thy  approach  will  sprout 
Her  new  Corinthian  beauties  out. 
Leaf-woven  homes,  where  twitter-words 
Will  grow  to  songs,  and  eggs  to  birds  ; 
Ambitious  buds  shall  swell  to  flowers, 
And  April  smiles  to  sunny  hom-s. 
Bright  days  shall  be,  and  gentle  nights 
Full  of  soft  breath  and  echo-lights, 
As  if  the  god  of  sun-time  kept 
His  eyes  half-open  while  he  slept. 
Roses  shall  be  where  roses  were, 
Not  shadows,  but  reality  ; 
As  if  they  never  perished  there, 
But  slept  in  immortality : 
Nature  shall  thrill  v.ith  new  dehght, 
And  Time's  relumined  river  run 
Warm  as  young  blood,  and  dazzlmg  bright 
As  if  its  source  were  in  the  sun ! 

But  say,  hath  Winter  then  no  charms  ? 
Is  there  no  joy,  no  gladness,  warms 


1  40  THE  DEPARTUBE  OF  SUMMER. 

His  aged  heart  ?  no  happy  -wiles 
To  cheat  the  hoary  one  to  smiles  ? 
Onward  he  comes  —  the  cruel  North 
Pours  his  fuiious  whirlwind  forth 
Before  him  —  and  we  breathe  the  breath 
Of  famished  bears  that  howl  to  death. 
Onward  he  comes  from  rocks  that  blanch 
O'er  soUd  streams  that  never  flow  ; 
His  tears  all  ice,  his  locks  all  snow, 
Just  crept  from  some  huge  avalanche  — 
A  thing  half-breathing  and  half-warm, 
As  if  one  spark  began  to  glow 
Within  some  statue's  marble  form, 
Or  pilgrim  stiffened  in  the  storm. 
O !  will  not  Mirth's  light  arrows  fail 
To  pierce  that  frozen  coat  of  mail  ? 
O!  will  not  joy  but  strive  in  vain 
To  light  up  those  glazed  eyes  again  ? 

No !  take  him  in,  and  blaze  the  oakj 
And  pour  the  wine,  and  warm  the  ale ; 
His  sides  shall  shake  to  many  a  joke, 
His  tongue  shall  thaw  in  many  a  tale, 
His  e)-es  grow  bright,  his  heart  be  gay, 
And  even  his  palsy  charmed  away. 
What  heeds  he  then  the  boisterous  shout 
Of  angry  winds  that  scold  without. 
Like  shrewish  wives  at  tavern  door  ? 
What  heeds  he  then  the  wild  uproar 
Of  billows  bursting  on  the  shore  ? 
In  dashing  waves,  in  howling  breeze, 
There  is  a  music  that  can  charm  him  ; 
When  safe,  and  sheltered,  and  at  ease. 
He  hears  the  storm  that  cannot  harm  him. 


THE    DEPAKTUKE    01'    SUMMER.  141 

But  hark  !  those  shouts  !  that  sudden  din 
Of  little  hearts  tliat  laugh  wthin. 
O  !  take  him  where  the  youngsters  plaj-, 
And  he  will  grow  as  young  as  they ! 
They  come  !  they  come  !  each  blue-eyed  Sport, 
The  Twelfth-Night  King  and  all  his  court  — 
'Tis  Mirth  fresh  crowned  with  mistletoe  ! 
Music  with  her  merry  fiddles, 
Joy  "  on  light  fantastic  toe," 
Wit  with  all  his  jests  and  riddles, 
Singing  and  dancing  as  they  go. 
And  Love,  young  Love,  among  the  rest, 
A  welcome  —  nor  unbidden  guest. 

But  still  for  Summer  dost  thou  grieve  ? 
Then  read  our  poets  —  they  shall  weave 
A  garden  of  green  fancies  still. 
Where  thy  wish  may  rove  at  Avill. 
They  have  kept  for  after  treats 
The  essences  of  summer,  sweets. 
And  echoes  of  its  songs  that  wind 
In  endless  music  through  the  mind  : 
They  have  stamped  in  %isible  traces 
The  "  thoughts  that  breathe,"  in  words  that  shine 
The  flights  of  soul  in  sunny  places  — 
To  greet  and  company  with  thine. 
These  shall  w^ing  thee  on  to  flowers  — 
The  past  or  future  that  shall  seem 
All  the  brighter  in  th)^  dream 
For  blowing  in  such  desert  hours. 
The  summer  never  shines  so  bright 
As  thought  of  m  a  winter's  night ; 
And  the  sweetest,  loveliest  rose 
Is  in  the  bud  before  it  blows ; 


144  SONG. 

O,  go  and  sit  with  her,  and  be  o'ershaded 
Under  the  languid  downfall  of  her  hair  : 
She  wears  a  coronal  of  flowers  faded 
Upon  her  forehead,  and  a  face  of  care  ;  — 
There  is  enough  of  \nthered  every  Avhere 
To  make  her  bower,  —  and  enough  of  gloom  ; 
There  is  enough  of  sadness  to  invite, 
If  only  for  the  rose  that  died,  —  whose  doom 
Is  Beauty's,  —  she  that  with  the  li\'ing  bloom 
Of  conscious  cheeks  most  beautifies  the  light ;  ■ 
There  is  enough  of  sorrowing,  and  quite 
Enough  of  bitter  fruits  the  earth  doth  bear,  — 
Enough  of  chilly  droppings  for  her  bowl ; 
Enough  of  fear  and  shadowy  despair, 
To  frame  her  cloudy  prison  for  the  soul ! 


SONG. 

FOR    MUSIC. 


A  LAKE  and  a  fairy  boat 

To  sail  iff  the  moonlight  clear, — 

And  merrily  we  would  float 

From  the  dragons  that  watch  us  here ! 


•Ci^ 


Thy  gown  should  be  snow-white  silk ; 
And  strings  of  orient  pearls. 
Like  gossamers  dipped  in  milk. 
Should  twine  Tvith  thy  raven  curls  ! 

Red  rubies  should  deck  thy  hands, 
And  diamonds  should  be  thy  dower  - 
But  fairies  have  broke  their  wands, 
And  \vishing  has  lost  its  power ! 


BALLAD-  145 


BALLAD. 

Sprestg  it  is  cheery,  , 

Winter  is  dreary, 
Green  leaves  hang,  but  the  brown  must  fly ; 

When  he's  forsaken, 

Withered  and  shaken, 
What  can  an  old  man  do  but  die  ? 

Love  AAiU  not  clip  him. 

Maids  will  not  lip  him, 
Maud  and  Marian  pass  him  by  ; 

Youth  it  is  sunny. 

Age  has  no  honey,  — 
What  can  an  old  man  do  but  die  ? 

June  it  was  jolly, 

O  for  its  folly  ! 
A  dancing  leg  and  a  laughing  eye ; 

Youth  may  be  silly. 

Wisdom  is  chilly,  — 
What  can  an  old  man  do  but  die  ? 

Friends  they  are  scanty, 

Beggars  are  plenty, 
If  he  has  followers,  I  know  why ; 

Gold's  in  his  clutches, 

(Buying  him  crutches  !)  — 
What  can  an  old  man  do  but  die? 
13 


146  HYMN    TO    THE    SUN. 


HYMN    TO  THE   SUN. 

Giver  of  glowing  light '. 
Though  but  a  god  of  other  days. 

The  kings  and  sages 

Of  wiser  ages 
Still  live  and  gladden  in  thy  genial  rays» 

King  of  the  tuneful  lyre, 
Still  poets'  hymns  to  thee  belong ; 

Thougli  lips  are  cold 

Whereon  of  old 
Thy  beams  all  tm-ned  to  worshipping  and  song  I 

Lord  of  the  dreadful  bow, 
None  triumph  now  for  Python's  death  ; 

But  thou  dost  sa\'e 

From  hungry  grave 
The  life  that  hangs  upon  a  summer  breath. 

Father  of  rosy  day, 
No  more  thy  clouds  of  incense  rise  ; 

But  waking  flowei's 

At  morning  hours 
Give  out  their  sweets  to  meet  thee  in  the  skies. 

God  of  the  Delphic  fane,. 
No  more  thou  listenest  to  hymns  sublime  j 

But  they  mil  leave 

On  winds  at  eve 
A  solenxn  echo  to  the  end  of  tinie« 


AUTUMN.  —  TO    A    COLD    BEAUTY,  147 


AUTOIN. 

The  autumn  skies  are  flushed  with  gold, 
And  fair  and  bright  the  rivers  run  ; 
These  are  but  streams  of  winter  cold, 
And  painted  mists  that  quench  the  sun. 

In  secret  boughs  no  sweet  birds  sing, 
Li  secret  boughs  no  bird  can  shroud ; 
These  are  but  leaves  that  take  to  wing, 
And  wintry  winds  that  pipe  so  loud. 

Tis  not  trees'  shade,  but  cloudy  glooms 
That  on  the  cheerless  valleys  fall ; 
The  flowers  are  in  their  grassy  tombs, 
And  tears  of  dew  are  on  them  all. 


TO  A  COLD  BEAUTY. 

Lady,  wouldst  thou  heiress  be 
To  Winter's  cold  and  cruel  part  ? 

When  ho  sets  the  rivers  free, 

Thou  dost  still  lock  up  thy  heart ;  — 

Thou  that  shouldst  outlast  the  snow 

But  in  the  wliiteness  of  thy  brow  ? 

Scorn  and  cold  neglect  are  made 
For  winter  gloom  and  winter  Avind, 

But  thou  wilt  wrong  the  summer  air, 
Breathing  it  to  words  unkind, — 

Breath  which  only  should  belong 

To  love,  to  sunlight,  and  to  song ! 


148 


RDTH. 


When  the  little  buds  unclose, 

Red,  and  white,  and  pied,  and  blue, 

And  that  virgin  flower,  the  rose, 
Opes  her  heart  to  hold  the  dew, 

Wilt  thou  lock  thy  bosom  up 

With  no  jewel  in  its  cup  ? 

Let  not  cold  December  sit 

Thus  in  Love's  peculiar  throne  ;  — 
Brooklets  are  not  prisoned  now. 

But  crystal  frosts  are  all  as:i^one. 
And  that  which  hanj^s  upon  the  spray, 
It  is  no  snow,  but  flower  of  May ! 


RUTH. 

She  stood  breast-high  amid  the  com, 
Clasped  by  the  golden  Kght  of  morn, 
Like  the  sweetheart  of  the  sun. 
Who  many  a  glowing  kiss  had  won. 

On  her  cheek  an  autumn  flush, 
Deeply  ripened  ;  —  such  a  blush 
In  the  midst  of  brown  was  born, 
Like  red  poppies  grown  with  com. 

Round  her  eyes  her  tresses  fell ; 
Which  were  blackest  none  could  tell, 
But  long  lashes  veiled  a  light 
That  had  else  been  all  too  bright. 


'&' 


And  her  hat,  with  shady  brim, 
Made  her  tressy  forehead  dim ;  — 
Thus  she  stood  amid  the  stocks. 
Praising  God  with  SM'cetest  looks :  — 


BALLAD.  1 49 

Sure,  I  said,  Heaven  did  not  mean 
Where  I  reap  thou  shouldst  but  glean ; 
Lay  thy  sheaf  adown,  and  come, 
Share  my  harvest  and  my  home. 


BALLAD. 


She's  up  and  gone,  the  graceless  girl ! 

And  robbed  my  failing  years  ; 
My  blood  before  was  thin  and  cold, 

But  now  'tis  turned  to  tears  ;  — 
My  shadow  falls  upon  my  grave  ; 

So  near  the  brinlv  I  stand, 
She  might  have  staid  a  little  yet, 

And  led  me  by  the  hand  ! 

Ay,  call  her  on  the  barren  moor, 

And  call  her  on  the  hill,  — 
'Tis  nothing  but  the  heron's  cry, 

And  jilover's  answer  shrill ; 
My  child  is  flown  on  wilder  wings 

Than  they  have  ever  spread. 
And  I  may  even  walk  a  waste      , 

That  widened  when  she  fled. 

Full  many  a  thankless  child  has  been, 

But  never  one  like  mine  ; 
Her  meat  was  served  on  plates  of  gold, 

Her  drinli  was  rosy  wine  ; 
But  now  she'll  share  the  robin's  food, 

And  sup  the  common  riU, 
Before  her  feet  will  turn  again 

To  meet  her  father's  will ! 
13* 


250  I    KEMEMKKIl,    I    BEMEMKER. 


I  REMEMBER,  I  REMEMBER. 

I  KEMEMBER,  I  remember 
The  house  where  I  was  born, 
The  Uttle  wmdow  where  the  sun 
Came  peeping  in  at  morn  ; 
He  never  came  a  wink  too  soon, 
Nor  brought  too  long  a  day, 
But  now  I  often  wish  the  night 
Had  borne  my  breath  away  ! 

I  remember,  I  remember 
The  roses  red  and  white, 
The  violets,  and  the  hly-cups, 
Those  flowers  made  of  light ! 
The  Hlacs  where  the  robin  built, 
And  where  my  brother  set 
The  laburnum  on  his  birth-day, — 
The  tree  is  living  yet ! 

I  remember,  I  remember 

Where  I  was  used  to  swing, 

And  thought  the  air  must  rush  as  fresh 

To  swallows  on  the  wing  ; 

My  spirit  flew  in  feathers  then, 

That  is  so  heavy  now, 

And  summer  pools  could  hardly  cool 

The  fever  on  my  brow  ! 

I  remember,  I  remember 
The  fir-trees  dark  and  high  ; 
I  used  to  think  then-  slender  tops 
Were  close  against  the  sky  : 


BALLAD.  ]^5J 

It  was  a  childish  ignorance, 

But  now  'tis  little  joy 

To  know  I'm  ftulher  off  from  heaven 

Than  when  I  was  a  boy. 


B.\LLAD. 


Sigh  on,  sad  heart,  for  Love's  eclipse 

And  Beauty's  fairest  queen, 
Though  'tis  not  for  my  peasant  hj^s 

To  soil  her  name  between : 
A  lung  might  lay  his  sceptre  down, 

But  I  am  poor  and  nought. 
The  brow  should  wear  a  golden  crown 

That  wears  her  in  its  thought. 

The  diamonds  glancing  in  her  hair, 

Whose  sudden  beams  surprise, 
Might  bid  such  humble  hopes  beware 

The  glancing  of  her  eyes ; 
Yet  looking  once,  I  looked  too  long, 

And  if  my  love  is  sin, 
Death  follows  on  the  heels  of  wrong, 

And  kills  the  crime  within. 

Her  dress  seemed  wove  of  lily  leaves, 

It  was  so  pure  and  fine, 
O  lofty  wears,  and  lowly  weaves, 

But  hoddan  gray  is  mine  ; 
And  homely  hose  must  step  apart. 

Where  gartered  princes  stand, 
But  may  he  wear  my  love  at  heart 

That  wins  her  lily  hand ! 


150  I    REMEiMBER,    I    REMEMBER. 


I  REMEMBER,   I  REMEMBER. 

I  REMEMBER,  I  remember 
The  house  where  I  was  born, 
The  little  window  where  the  sun 
Came  peeping  in  at  morn  ; 
He  never  came  a  wink  too  soon, 
Nor  brought  too  long  a  day, 
But  now  I  often  wish  the  night 
Had  borne  my  breath  away  ! 

I  remember,  I  remember 
The  roses  red  and  white. 
The  violets,  and  the  lily-cups, 
Those  flowers  made  of  light ! 
The  lilacs  where  the  robin  built, 
And  where  my  brother  set 
The  laburnum  on  his  birth-day, — 
The  tree  is  living  yet ! 

I  remember,  I  remember 

Where  I  was  used  to  swing, 

And  thought  the  an-  must  rush  as  fresh 

To  swallows  on  the  wing  ; 

My  s])irit  flew  in  feathers  then. 

That  is  so  heavy  now, 

And  summer  pools  could  hardly  cool 

The  fever  on  my  brow  ! 

I  remember,  I  remember 
The  fir-trees  dark  and  high  ; 
I  used  to  think  then-  slender  tops 
Were  close  against  the  sky  : 


BAIXA.D.  151 

It  was  a  childish  ignorance, 

But  now  'tis  little  joy 

To  know  I'm  further  off  from  heaven 

Than  Avhen  I  was  a  boy. 


B.\LLAD. 


Sigh  on,  sad  heart,  for  Love's  eclipse 

And  Beaut}'s  fairest  queen, 
Though  'tis  not  for  my  peasant  hps 

To  soil  her  name  between : 
A  king  might  la}'  his  sceptre  down, 

But  I  am  poor  and  nought, 
The  brow  should  wear  a  golden  crown 

That  wears  her  in  its  thought. 

The  diamonds  glancing  in  her  hair, 

Whose  sudden  beams  surprise. 
Might  bid  such  humble  hopes  beware 

The  glancing  of  her  eyes ; 
Yet  looking  once,  I  looked  too  long, 

And  if  my  love  is  sin. 
Death  follows  on  the  heels  of  \vrong, 

And  kiUs  the  crime  within. 

Her  dress  seemed  wove  of  Uly  leaves, 

It  was  so  pure  and  fine, 
O  lofty  wears,  and  lowly  weaves, 

But  hoddan  gray  is  mme  ; 
And  homely  hose  must  step  apart, 

AVhere  gartered  princes  stand. 
But  may  he  wear  my  love  at  heart 

That  wins  her  lily  hand ! 


152  "TH^    WATEE    LADT, 

Alas  !  there's  far  from  russet  frieze 

To  sillis  and  satin  gowns, 
But  I  doubt  if  God  made  like  degrees 

In  courtly  hearts  and  clowns. 
My  father  wronged  a  maiden's  mirth,. 

And  brought  her  cheeks  to  blame. 
And  all  that's  lordly  of  my  birth 

Is  my  reproach  and  shame  ! 

Tis  vain  to  weep,  —  'tis  vam  to  sigh, 

'Tis  vain  this  idle  speech, 
For  where  her  hajipy  pearls  do  lie 

My  tears  may  never  reach  ; 
Yet  when  I'm  gone,  e'en  lofty  pride 

May  say  of  what  has  been. 
His  love  was  nobly  born  and  died, 

Though  all  the  rest  was  mean ! 

My  speech  is  rude,  —  but  speech  is  weak 

Such  love  as  mine  to  teU, 
Yet  had  I  words,  I  dare  not  speak, 

So,  lady,  fare  thee  well ; 
I  wiU  not  wish  thy  better  state 

Was  one  of  low  degree. 
But  I  must  weep  that  partial  fate 

Made  such  a  chmi  of  me. 


THE  WATER  LADY. 

Alas  !  the  moon  should  ever  beam 
To  show  what  man  should  never  see !  — 
I  saw  a  maiden  on  a  stream, 
And  fair  was  she  ! 


TO    AN    ABSENTEE.  153 

I  staid  a  while,  to  see  her  throw 
Her  tresses  back,  that  all  beset 
The  fair  horizon  of  her  brow 
With  clouds  of  jet. 

I  staid  a  little  while  to  view 
Her  cheek,  that  wore  in  place  of  red 
The  bloom  of  water,  tender  blue, 
Daintily  spread. 

I  staid  to  watch,  a  little  space, 
Her  parted  lips  if  she  would  sing  ; 
The  waters  closed  above  her  face 
With  many  a  ring. 

And  still  I  staid  a  little  more  ; 
Alas  !  she  never  comes  again  ! 
I  throw  my  flowers  from  the  shore, 
And  watch  in  vain. 

I  know  my  life  will  fade  away, 
I  know  that  I  must  vainly  pine  ; 
For  I  am  made  of  mortal  clay, 
But  she's  di\ine ! 


TO  AN  ABSENTEE. 

O'er  hill,  and  dale,  and  distant  sea, 
Through  all  the  miles  that  stretch  between, 
My  thought  must  fly  to  rest  on  thee, 
And  would,  though  worlds  should  intervene. 

Nay,  thou  art  now  so  dear,  methiiiks 
The  further  we  are  forced  apart. 


154  SONG. 

Affection's  firm  elastic  links 

But  bind  the  closer  round  the  heart. 

For  now  we  sever  each  from  each, 
I  learn  what  I  have  lost  in  thee ; 
Alas  !  that  nothing  less  could  teach 
How  great  indeed  my  love  should  be  ! 

Farewell !  I  did  not  know  thy  worth  : 
But  thou  art  gone,  and  now  'tis  prized : 
So  angels  walked  unknown  on  earth, 
But  when  they  flew  were  recognized ! 


SONG. 

The  stars  are  with  the  voyager 

Wherever  he  may  sail ; 
The  moon  is  constant  to  her  time ; 

The  sun  will  never  fail ; 
But  follow,  follow  round  the  world, 

The  green  earth  and  the  sea ; 
So  love  is  with  the  lover's  heart, 

Wherever  he  may  be. 

Wherever  he  may  be,  the  stars 

Must  daily  lose  their  light ; 
The  moon  will  veil  her  in  the  shade ; 

The  sun  will  set  at  night. 
The  sun  may  set,  but  constant  love 

Will  shine  when  he's  away ; 
So  that  dull  night  is  never  night. 

And  day  is  brighter  day. 


f 


ODE    TO    THE    MOON.  155 


ODE  TO  THE  MOON. 

Mother  of  light !  how  fairly  dost  thou  go 

Over  those  hoary  crests,  divinely  led  !  — 

Art  thou  that  huntress  of  the  silver  bow 

Fabled  of  old  ?     Or  rather  dost  thou  tread 

Those  cloudy  summits  thence  to  gaze  below, 

Like  the  wild  chamois  from  her  Alpine  snow, 

Where  hunter  never  climbed,  —  secure  from  dread  ? 

How  many  antique  fancies  have  I  read 

Of  that  mild  presence  !  and  how  many  wrought ! 

Wondrous  and  bright, 

Upon  the  silver  light, 
Chasing  fair  figures  with  the  artist.  Thought ! 

What  art  thou  like  ?  —  sometimes  I  see  thee  ride 

A  far-bound  galley  on  its  perilous  way, 

AVhilst  breezy  waves  toss  up  their  silvery  spray  :  — 

Sometimes  behold  thee  glide, 
Clustered  by  all  thy  family  of  stars. 
Like  a  lone  widow,  through  the  welldn  wide. 
Whose  pallid  cheek  the  midnight  sorrow  mars ;  — 
Sometimes  I  watch  thee  on  from  steep  to  steep, 
Timidly  lighted  by  thy  vestal  torch, 
TUl  in  some  Latmian  cave  I  see  thee  creep, 
To  catch  the  young  Endymion  asleep,  — 
Leaving  thy  splendor  at  the  jagged  porch !  — 

O,  thou  art  beautiful,  howe'er  it  be ! 
Huntress,  or  Dian,  or  whatever  named ; 
And  he,  the  veriest  Pagan,  that  first  framed 
A  silver  idol,  and  ne'er  worshipped  thee !  — 
It  is  too  late,  or  thou  shouldst  have  my  knee ; 


156  ODE    TO    THE    MOON. 

Too  late  now  for  the  old  Ephesian  vows, 
And  not  divine  the  crescent  on  thy  brows  !  — 
Yet,'  call  thee  nothing  but  the  mere  mild  moon, 

Behind  those  chestnut  boughs, 
Casting  their  dajspled  shadows  at  my  feet ; 
I  will  be  grateful  for  that  simple  boon, 
In  many  a  thoughtful  verse  and  anthem  sweet, 
And  bless  thy  dainty  face  whene'er  we  meet. 

In  nights  far  gone,  —  ay,  far  away  and  dead,  — 

Before  Care-fretted  with  a  Hdless  eye,  — 

I  was  thy  wooer  on  my  little  bed, 

Letting  the  early  hom-s  of  rest  go  by. 

To  see  thee  flood  the  heaven  with  milky  light, 

And  feed  thy  snow-white  swans,  before  I  slept ; 

For  thou  wert  then  purveyor  of  ray  dreams,  — 

Thou  wert  the  fairies'  armorer,  that  kept 

Their  burnished  helms,  and  crowns,  and  corselets  bright, 

Their  spears  and  ghttering  mails  ; 
And  ever  thou  didst  spill  in  winding  streams 

Sparkles  and  midnight  gleams. 
For  fishes  to  new  gloss  their  argent  scales !  — - 

Why  sighs  ?— why  creeping  tears  ?— why  clasped  hands  ? 
Is  it  to  count  the  boy's  expended  dower  ? 
That  fairies  since  have  broke  their  gifted  wands  ? 
That  young  Delight,  like  any  o'erblown  flower, 
Gave,  one  by  one,  its  sweet  leaves  to  the  ground  ?  — 
Why  then,  fair  Moon,  for  all  thou  mark'st  no  hour. 
Thou  art  a  sadder  dial  to  old  Time 

Than  ever  I  have  found 
On  sunny  garden-plot,  or  moss-grown  tower, 
Mottoed  -with  stern  and  melancholy  rhyme. 

Why  should  I  grieve  for  this  ?  —  O,  I  must  yearn, 
Whilst  Time,  conspirator  with  Memory, 


TO  .  157 

m 

Keeps  his  cold  ashes  in  an  ancient  urn, 

Richly  embossed  with  childhood's  revelry, 

With  leaves  and  clustered  fruits,  and  flowers  eterne,  — 

(Eternal  to  the  world,  though  not  to  me,) 

Aye  there  will  those  brave  sports  and  blossoms  be. 

The  deathless  wreath,  and  undecayed  festoon, 

When  I  am  hearsed  within,  — 
Less  than' the  pallid  primrose  to  the  moon, 
That  now  she  watches  through  a  vapor  thin. 

So  let  it  be  :  —  Before  I  lived  to  sigh. 
Thou  wert  in  Avon,  and  a  thousand  rills. 
Beautiful  orb  !  and  so,  whene'er  I  lie 
Trodden,  thou  wilt  be  gazing  from  thy  hills. 
Blest  be  thy  loving  light,  where'er  it  spills, 
And  blessed  thy  fair  face.  O  mother  mild ! 
Still  shine,  the  soul  of  rivers  as  they  run, 
Still  lend  thy  lonely  lamp  to  lovers  fond, 
And  blend  their  plighted  shadows  into  one:  — 
Still  smile  at  even  on  the  bedded  child, 
And  close  his  eyelids  with  thy  silver  wand ! 


TO 


Welcome,  dear  heart,  and  a  most  kind  good-morrow ; 
The  dav  is  gloomy,  but  our  looks  shall  shine  :  — 
Flowers  I  have  none  to  give  thee,  but  I  bori-ow 
Their  sweetness  in  a  verse  to  speak  for  thine. 

Here  are  red  roses,  gathered  at  thy  cheeks, — 
The  white  M'ere  all  too  ha])i)y  to  look  white : 
For  love  the  rose,  for  faith  the  lily  sjjeaks  : 
It  withers  hi  false  hands,  but  here  'tis  bright ! 
14 


158  THE    FORSAKEN. 

Dost  love  sweet  hyacinth  ?     Its  scented  leaf 
Curls  manifold,  —  all  love's  delights  blow  double  ; 
'Tis  said  this  floweret  is  inscribed  with  grief,  — 
But  let  that  hint  of  a  forgotten  trouble. 

I  plucked  the  primrose  at  night's  dewy  noon  ; 
Lilie  Hope,  it  showed  its  blossoms  in  the  night ;  - 
'Twas  lilie  Endymion,  watching  for  the  moon  ! 
And  here  are  simflowers,  amorous  of  light ! 

These  golden  buttercups  are  April's  seal,  — 
The  daisy  stars  her  constellations  be  : 
These  grew  so  lowly,  I  was  forced  to  kneel, 
Therefore  I  pluck  no  daisies  but  for  thee  ! 

Here's  daisies  for  the  mom,  primrose  for  gloom, 
Pansies  and  roses  for  the  noontide  hours  ;  — 
A  wight  once  made  a  dial  of  their  bloom,  — 
So  may  thy  life  be  measured  out  by  flowers ! 


THE   FOESAICEN. 

The  dead  are  in  their  silent  graves, 
And  the  dew  is  cold  above. 
And  the  living  weep  and  sigh 
Over  dust  that  once  was  love. 

Once  I  only  wept  the  dead. 

But  now  the  living  cause  my  pain  ; 

How  couldst  thou  steal  me  from  my  tears, 

To  leave  me  to  my  tears  again  ? 


AUTUMX.  159 


• 


My  mother  rests  beneath  the  sod,  — 
Her  rest  is  calm  and  very  deep  : 
I  wished  that  she  could  see  om-  loves,  — 
But  now  I  gladden  m  her  sleep. 

Last  nigtit  unbound  my  raven  locks, 
The  morning  saw  them  turned  to  gi'ay, 
Once  they  were  black  and  well  beloved, 
But  thou  art  changed,  —  and  so  are  they  ! 

The  useless  lock  I  gave  thee  once, 

To  gaze  upon  and  think  of  me, 

"Was  ta'en  with  smiles,  —  but  this  was  torn 

In  son-ow  that  I  send  to  thee. 


AUTUMN. 

The  Autumn  is  old. 
The  sere  leaves  are  fljing ;  — 
He  hath  gathered  up  gold, 
And  now  he  is  dying ;  — 
Old  age,  begin  sighing  ! 

The  \-intage  is  ripe, 
The  harvest  is  heaping ;  — 
But  some  that  have  sowed 
Have  no  riches  for  reaping  ;  — 
Poor  wTetch,  fall  a  weeping  ! 

The  year's  in  the  wane. 
There  is  nothing  adorning, 
The  night  has  no  eve. 
And  the  day  has  no  morning  ;  ■ 
Cold  A\inter  gives  warning. 


IQQ  ODE    TO    MELANCHOLY. 

The  rivers  run  chill, 
The  red  sun  is  sinking, 
And  I  am  grown  old, 
And  life  is  fast  shrinking ; 
Here's  enow  for  sad  thinking 


ODE  TO  MELANCHOLY. 

Come,  let  us  set  our  careful  breasts, 
Like  Philomel,  against  the  thorn. 
To  aggravate  the  inward  grief. 
That  makes  her  accents  so  forlorn ; 
The  world  has  many  cruel  points. 
Whereby  our  bosoms  have  been  torn, 
And  there  are  dainty  themes  of  grief, 
In  sadness  to  outlast  the  morn,  — 
True  honor's  dearth,  affection's  death, 
Neglectful  pride  and  cankering  scorn. 
With  all  the  piteous  tales  that  tears 
Have  watered  since  the  world  was  born. 

The  world !  —  it  is  a  wilderness, 
Where  tears  are  hung  on  every  tree  ; 
For  thus  my  gloomy  fantasy 
Makes  all  things  weep  with  me ! 
Come  let  us  sit  and  watch  the  sky, 
And  fancy  clouds  where  no  clouds  be  ; 
Grief  is  enough  to  blot  the  eye. 
And  make  heaven  black  with  misery. 
Why  should  birds  sing  such  merry  notes, 
Unless  they  were  more  blest  than  we  ? 
No  sorrow  ever  chokes  their  throats, 
Except  sweet  nightingale ;  for  she 


ODE    TO    MELANCHOLY.  JGl 

Was  born  to  pain  ovn-  hearts  the  naore 

With  her  sad  melody. 

Why  shines  the  sun,  excejit  that  he 

Makes  gloomy  nooks  for  Grief  to  hide, 

And  pensive  shades  for  Melancholy, 

When  all  the  earth  is  briglit  beside  ?  , 

Let  clay  wear  smiles,  and  green  grass  wave, 

Mirth  shall  not  win  us  back  again, 

Whilst  man  is  made  of  his  own  grave, 

And  fairest  clouds  but  gilded  rain  ! 


I  saw  my  mother  in  her  shroud, 
Her  cheek  was  cold  and  very  pale  5 
And  ever  since  I've  looked  on  all 
As  creatures  doomed  to  fail ! 
Why  do  buds  ope,  except  to  die  ? 
Ay,  let  us  watch  the  roses  wither, 
And  think  of  our  loves'  cheeks  : 
And,  O,  how  quickly  time  doth  fly 
To  bring  death's  winter  hither ! 
Minutes,  hours,  days,  and  weeks, 
Months,  years,  and  ages  shrink  to  nought. 
An  age  past  is  but  a  thought ! 

Ay,  let  us  think  of  him  a  while. 
That,  Avith  a  coffin  for  a  boat, 
Rows  daily  o'er  the  Stygian  moat, 
And  for  our  table  choose  a  tomb  :. 
There's  dark  enough  in  any  skull 
To  charge  with  black  a  raven  plume  ; 
And  for  the  saddest  fimeral  thoughts 
A  winding-sheet  hath  ample  room, 
Where  Death,  Anth  his  keen-pointed  style, 
Hath  wi-it  the  common  doom. 
14* 


igO  ODE    TO    MELAXCIiOLY. 

How  wide  the  yew-tree  spreads  its  gloom, 

And  o'er  the  dead  lets  fall  its  dew, 

As  if  in  tears  it  wept  for  them, 

The  many  human  families 

That  sleep  around  its  stem  ! 

How  cold  the  dead  have  made  these  stones, 

With  natural  drops  kept  ever  wet ! 

Lo  !  here  the  best,  the  worst,  the  world 

Doth  now  remember  or  forget. 

Are  in  one  common  ruin  hurled, 

And  love  and  hate  are  calmly  met ; 

The  loveliest  eyes  that  ever  shone, 

The  fairest  hands,  and  locks  of  jet. 

Is't  not  enough  to  vex  our  souls, 

And  fill  our  eyes,  that  we  have  set 

Our  love  upon  a  rose's  leaf, 

Om-  hearts  upon  a  violet  ? 

Blue  eyes,  red  cheeks,  are  frailer  yet ; 

And,  sometimes,  at  thek  swift  decay 

Beforehand  we  must  fret : 

The  roses  bud  and  bloom  again  ; 

But  love  may  haunt  the  grave  of  love, 

And  watch  the  mould  in  vain. 

O  clasp  me,  sweet,  whilst  thou  art  mine, 

And  do  not  take  my  tears  amiss  ; 

For  tears  must  flow  to  wash  away 

A  thought  that  shows  so  stem  as  this  : 

Forgive,  if  some  while  I  forget, 

In  woe  to  come,  the  present  bliss. . 

As  frighted  Proserpine  let  fall 

Her  flowers  at  the  sight  of  Dis, 

Even  so  the  dark  and  bright  will  kiss. 

The  sunniest  things  throw  sternest  shade, 


ODE    TO    MELANCHOLY.  163 

And  there  is  even  a  happiness 

That  makes  the  heart  afraid  ! 

Now  let  us  Avith  a  spell  invoke 

The  full-orbed  moon  to  grieve  our  eyes  ; 

Not  bright,  not  blight,  but,  with  a  cloud 

Lapped  all  about  her,  let  her  rise 

All  pale  and  dim,  as  if  from  rest 

The  ghost  of  the  late  buried  sun 

Had  crept  into  the  skies. 

The  moon  I  she  is  the  source  of  sighs. 

The  very  face  to  make  us  sad ; 

If  but  to  think  in  other  times 

The  same  calm,  quiet  look  she  had, 

As  if  the  Avorld  held  nothing  base. 

Of  vile  and  mean,  of  fierce  and  bad  ; 

The  same  fair  light  that  shone  in  streams, 

The  fairy  lamp  that  charmed  the  lad ; 

For  so  it  is,  with  spent  delights 

She  taunts  men's  brains,  and  makes  them  mad. 

All  things  are  touched  with  melancholy. 

Born  of  the  secret  soul's  mistrust. 

To  feel  her  fair  ethereal  wings 

Weighed  down  with  vile  degraded  dust ; 

Even  the  bright  extremes  of  joy 

Bring  on  conclusions  of  disgust. 

Like  the  sweet  blossoms  of  the  May, 

Whose  fragrance  ends  in  must.  • 

O,  give  her,  then,  her  tribute  just. 

Her  sighs  and  tears,  and  musings  holy ! 

There  is  no  music  in  the  life 

That  sounds  with  idiot  laughter  solely ; 

There's  not  a  string  attuned  to  mu-th, 

But  has  its  chord  m  Melancholy. 


]^g4  SONNETS. 

SONNETS. 

WRITTEN    IN    A    VOLUME    OF    SHAKSPEARE. 

How  bravely  Autumn  paints  upon  the  sky 
The  gorgeous  fame  of  Summer  which  is  fled ! 

•  Hues  of  all  flowers  that  in  their  ashea  lie, 
Trophied  in  that  fair  light  whereon  the}-  fed, 
Tulip,  and  hyacinth,  and  sweet  rose  red,  — 
Like  exhalations  from  the  leafy  mould, 
Look  here  how  honor  glorifies  the  dead. 
And  warms  their  scutcheons  mth  a  glance  of  gold !  - 
Such  is  the  memory  of  poets  old. 
Who  on  Parnassus'  hill  have  bloomed  elate  ; 

■  Now  they  are  laid  under  their  marbles  cold. 
And  turned  to  clay,  whereof  they  were  create  ; 
But  god  Apollo  hath  them  aU  enrolled. 
And  blazoned  on  the  very  clouds  of  fate  ! 


TO    FANCY. 

Most  deUcate  Ariel!  submissive  thing. 
Won  by  the  mind's  high  magic  to  its  best,  ■ 
oinvisible  embassj'-,  or  secret  guest,  — 
Weighing  the  light  air  on  a  lighter  ^ving ;  — 
Whether  into  the  midnight  moon,  to  bring 
Illuminate  visions  to  the  eye  of  rest,  — 
Or  rich  romances  from  the  florid  West, — 
Or  to  the  sea,  for  mystic  whispering,  — 
Still  by  thy  charmed  allegiance  to  the  witt 
The  fruitful  wishes  prosper  in  the  brain, 


SONNETS.  165 

As.  by  the  fingering  of  fairy  sldll, — 
Moonliglit,  and  waters,  and  soft  music's  strain, 
Odors,  and  blooms,  and  my  ]\Iiranda'L>  smile, 
Making  this  dull  world  an  enchanted  isle. 


TO    AN    ENTHUSIAST. 


Young  ardent  soul,  graced  with  fair  Nature's  truth, 
Spring  warmth  of  heart,  and  fervency  of  mind, 
And  still  a  large  late  love  of  all  thy  Idnd, 
Spite  of  the  Avorld's  cold  practice  and  Time's  tooth, 
For  all  these  gifts,  I  know  not,  in  fair  sooth. 
Whether  to  give  thee  joy,  or  bid  thee  blind 
Thine  eyes  with  tears,  —  that  thou  hast  not  resigned 
The  passionate  fire  and  freshness  of  thy  youth : 
For  as  the  current  of  thy  life  shall  flow, 
Gilded  by  shine  of  sun  or  shadow-stained. 
Through  flowery  valley  or  unwholesome  fen. 
Thrice  blessed  in  thy  joy,  or  in  thy  woe 
Thrice  cursed  of  thy  race,  —  thou  art  ordained 
To  share  beyond  the  lot  of  common  men. 


It  is  not  death,  that  sometime  in  a  sigh 

Tills  eloquent  breath  shall  take  its  sjjeechless  flight ; 

That  sometime  these  bright  stars,  that  now  reply 

In  sunlight  to  the  sun,  shall  set  in  night ; 

That  this  warm  conscious  flesh  shall  perish  quite, 

And  all  life's  ruddy  springs  forget  to  flow ; 

That  thoughts  shall  cease,  and  the  immortal  spright 

Be  lajjped  in  aUen  clay  and  "laid  below ; 

It  is  not  death  to  know  this,  —  but  to  know 


166 


SONNETS. 


That  pious  thoughts,  which  visit  at  new  graves 

In  tender  pilgrimage,  will  cease  to  go 

So  duly  and  so  oft,  —  and  when  grass  waves 

Over  the  past-away,  there  may  be  then 

No  resurrection  in  the  minds  of  men. 


By  every  sweet  tradition  of  true  hearts, 
Graven  by  Time,  in  love  with  his  own  lore ; 
By  all  old  martyrdoms  and  antique  smarts, 
Wherein  Love  died  to  be  ahve  the  more  ; 
Yea,  by  the  sad  impression  on  the  shore 
Left  by  the  drowned  Leander,  to  endear^ 
That  coast  forever,  where  the  billows'  roar 
Moaneth  for  pity  in  the  poet's  ear ; 
By  Hero's  faith,  and  the  foreboding  tear 
That  quenched  her  brand's  last  twinkle  in  its  fall ; 
By  Sappho's  leap,  and  the  low  rustling  fear 
That  sighed  around  her  flight ;  I  swear  by  all, 
The  world  shall  find  such  pattern  in  my  act, 
As  if  Love's  great  examples  still  were  lacked. 


ON    RECEIVING    A    GIFT. 


Look  how  the  golden  ocean  shines  above 

Its  pebbly  stones,  and  magnifies  their  girth ; 

So  does  the  bright  and  blessed  light  of  love 

Its  own  things  glorify,  and  raise  their  worth. 

As  weeds  seem  flowers  beneath  the  flattering  brine, 

And  stones  like  gems,  and  gems  as  gems  indeed. 

Even  so  our  tokens  shine  ;  nay,  they  outshine 

Pebbles  and  pearls,  and  gems  and  coral  weed ; . 


SONNETS.  1  g7 

For  where  be  ocean  waves  but  Kalf  so  clear, 
So  calmly  constant,  and  so  kindly  warm, 
As  Love's  most  mild  and  glowing  atmosphere, 
That  hath  no  di-egs  to  be  upturned  b^-  storm  ? 
Thus,  sweet,  thy  gracious  gifts  are  gifts  of  price, 
And  more  than  gold  to  doting  Avarice. 


SILENCE. 

There  is  a  silence  where  hath  been  no  sound, 

There  is  a  silence  where  no  sound  may  be, 

In  the  cold  grave  —  under  the  deep,  deep  sea, 

Or  in  wide  desert  where  no  life  is  found. 

Which  hath  been  mute,  and  still  must  sleep  profound ; 

No  voice  is  hushed  —  no  life  treads  silently. 

But  clouds  and  cloudy  shadows  wander  free, 

That  never  spoke,  over  the  idle  ground  : 

But  in  gi'een  ruins,  in  the  desolate  walls 

Of  antique  palaces,  where  Man  hath  been, 

Though  the  dun  fox,  or  wild  hyena,  calls,     • 

And  owls,  that  flit  continually  between. 

Shriek  to  the  echo,  and  the  low  winds  moan, 

There  the  true  Silence  is,  self-conscious  and  alone. 


The  curse  of  Adam,  the  old  curse  of  all 

Though  I  inherit  in  this  feverish  life 

Of  worldly  toil,  vain  wishes,  and  hard  strife, 

And  fruitless  thought,  in  Care's  eternal  thi'all, 

Yet  more  sweet  honey  than  of  bitter  gall 

I  taste,  through  thee,  my  Eva,  my  sweet  wife. 


IQg  THE    LEE    SHORE. 

Then  what  was  Man's  lost  Paradise  I  —  how  rife 
Of  bliss,  since  love  is  with  him  in  liis  iall !  ^ 
Such  as  our  own  pui-e  passion  still  mig-ht  frame. 
Of  tills  lair  earth,  and  its  delig^htful  bowers. 
If  no  fell  sorrow,  like  the  serpent,  came 
To  trail  its  venom  o'er  the  sweetest  flowers  :  — 
But,.  O  !  as  many  and  such  tears  are  ours, 
As  only  should  be  shed  for  guilt  and  shame  I 


Love,  dearest  lady,  such  as  I  would  speak. 
Lives  not  within  the  humor  of  the  eye  ;  — 
Not  being  but  an  outward  fantasy. 
That  skims  the  surface  of  a  tinted  cheek  — 
Else  it  would  wane  with  beauty,  and  grow  weak^ 
As  if  the  rose  made  summer,  — and  so  lie 
Among-st  the  perishable  things  that  die, 
Unlike  the  love  which  I  would  give  and  seek. 
Whose  health  is  of  no  hue  —  to  feel  decay 
With  cheeks'  decay,  that  have  a  rosy  j.rime. 
Love  is  its  o\vn  great  loveliness  alway, 
And  talces  new"  lustre  from  the  touch  of  time  j 
Its  bough  ov/ns  no  December  and  no  May, 
But  bears  its  blossom  into  Winter's  clime. 


THE   LEE   shore: 

Sleet  !  and  hail !  and  thunder  E 
And  ye  winds  that  rave, 

Till  tlie  sands  thereunder 
Tinge  the  sullen  v/ave  — - 


THE    DEATH-BED.  169 

Winds,  that  lilve  a  demon 

Howl  with  horrid  note 
Round  the  toiling  seaman, 

In  liis  tossing  boat  — 

From  his  humble  dwelling 

On  the  shingh'  shore, 
Where  the  billows  swelling 

Keep  such  hollow  roar  — 

From  that  weeping  woman, 

Seeking  with  her  cries 
Succor  buperhmnan 

From  the  frowning  sides  — 

From  the  urchin  pining 

For  his  father's  knee  — 
From  the  lattice  shining, 

Drive  him  out  to  sea  ! 

Let  broad  leagues  dissever 

Him  from  yonder  foam  ;  — 
O,  God  I  to  think  man  ever 

Comes  too  near  liis  home ! 


THE  DEATH-BED. 

We  watched  her  breathing  through  the  night, 

Her  breathing  soft  and  low. 
As  in  her  breast  the  wave  of  life 

Kept  hea\ing  to  and  fro. 
13 


170 


MNES. 


So  silently  we  seemed  to  speak, 

So  slowly  moved  about, 
As  we  had  lent  her  half  our  powers 

To  eke  her  liraig  out. 

Our  very  hopes  belied  our  fears, 
Om-  fears  our  hopes  belied  — 

"We  thought  her  dying  when  she  slept. 
And  sleeping  when  she  died. 

For  when  the  morn  came  dim  and  sad, 
And  chill  with  early  showers, 

Her  quiet  eyeHds  closed  —  she  had 
Another  morn  than  ours. 


LINES 

ON    SEEING    MY   WIFE     AND     TWO    CHILDKEN     SLEEPING    IN 
THE    SAME    CHAMBER. 

Ajjd  has  the  earth  lost  its  so  spacious  round, 
The  sky  its  blue  circumference  above, 
That  in  this  little  chamber  there  is  found 
Both  earth  and  heaven  —  my  universe  of  love ! 
All  that  my  God  can  give  me  or  remove, 
Here  sleeping,  save  myself,  in  mhnic  death. 
Sweet  that  in  this  small  compass  I  behove 
To  live  their  living  and  to  breathe  their  breath ! 
Almost  I  wish  that  with  one  common  sigh 
We  might  resign  all  mundane  care  and  strife, 
And  seek  together  that  transcendent  sky, 
Where  father,  mother,  children,  husband,  wife, 
Together  pant  in  everlasting  life ! 


TO    MY    DAUGHTER. — TO    A    CHILD.  171 


TO  MY  DAUGHTER,  ON  HER  BIRTHDAY. 

Dear  Fanny !  nine  long  years  ago, 
While  yet  the  morning  sun  was  low, 
And  rosy  Mith  the  eastern  glow 

The  landscape  smiled ; 
Whilst  lowed  the  newlj-wakened  herds  — 
Sweet  as  the  early  song  of  birds, 
I  heard  those  first,  delightful  words, 

"  Thou  hast  a  child !  " 

Along  with  that  ujnisiug  dew 

Tears  gUstencd  in  my  eyes,  though  few. 

To  hail  a  dawnin^quite  as  new, 

To  me,  as  time  : 
It  was  not  sorrow  —  not  annoy  — 
But  like  a  happy  maid,  though  coy. 
With  grief-like  welcome,  even  joy 

Forestalls  its  prime. 

So  mayst  thou  live,  dear !  many  years, 

In  all  the  bliss  that  life  endears, 

Not  without  smiles,  nor  yet  from  tears 

Too  strictly  kept : 
When  first  thy  infant  littleness 
I  folded  in  my  fond  caress. 
The  greatest  ])roof  of  hapi^iness 

Was  this  —  I  wept. 


TO  A   CHILD   EMBRACING  HIS   MOTHER. 

Love  thy  mother,  Uttle  one ! 
Kiss  and  clasp  her  neck  again, — 
Hereafter  she  may  have  a  son 


172  STANZAS. 

Will  kiss  and  clasp  her  neck  in  vain. 
Love  thy  mother,  little  one  ! 

Gaze  upon  her  living  eyes, 
And  mirror  back  her  love  for  thee,  — 
Hereafter  thou  mayst  shudder  sighs 
To  meet  them  when  they  cannot  see. 
Gaze  upon  her  Hving  eyes  ! 

Press  her  lips  the  while  they  glow 
With  love  that  they  have  often  told,  — 
Hereafter  thou  mayst  press  in  woe, 
And  kiss  them  till  tliine  own  are  cold. 
Press  her  hps  the  while  they  glow ! 

O,  revere  her  ravenliair  ! 
Although  it  be  not  silver-gray  ; 
Too  early  death,  led  on  by  care. 
May  snatch  save  one  dear  lock  away. 
O  !  revere  her  raven  hair  ! 

Pray  for  her  at  eve  and  morn, 
That  heaven  may  long  the  stroke  defer,  ■ 
For  thou  mayst  live  the  hour  forlorn 
When  thou  wilt  ask  to  die  with  her. 
Pray  for  her  at  eve  and  morn ! 


STANZAS. 


Farewell  life  !  my  senses  swim, 
And  the  world  is  growing  dim  : 
Thronging  shadows  cloud  the  Hght, 
Lilce  the  advent  of  the  night  — 


0  TO    A    FALSE    FRIEND.  273 

Colder,  colder,  colder  still. 
Upward  steals  a  vapor  chill  ; 
Strong  the  earthy  odor  gi-ows  — 
I  smell  the  mould  above  the  rose  ! 

Welcome  life  !  the  spirit  strives  ! 
Strength  retm-ns  and  hope  renves ; 
Cloudy  fears  and  shapes  forlorn 
Fly  like  shadows  at  the  morn, — 
O'er  the  earth  there  comes  a  bloom  ; 
Sunny  light  for  sullen  gloom, 
Warm  perfume  for  vapor  cold  — 
I  smell  the  rose  above  the  mould ! 

April,  1845. 


TO   A  FALSE   FRIEND. 

Our  hands  have  met,  but  not  our  hearts  ; 
Our  hands  will  never  meet  again. 
Friends  if  we  have  ever  been, 
Friends  we  cannot  now  remain  : 
I  only  know  I  loved  you  once, 
I  only  know  I  loved  in  vain  ; 
Our  hands  have  met,  but  not  our  hearts  ; 
Om  hands  will  never  meet  again  ! 

Then  farewell  to  heart  and  hand ! 
I  would  our  hands  had  never  met : 
Even  the  outward  form  of  love 
Must  be  resigned  with  some  regret. 
Friends  we  still  might  seem  to  be. 
If  my  wrong  could  e'er  forget 
Our  hands  have  joined,  but  not  our  hearts 
I  would  our  hands  had  never  met ! 
15  • 


J74  '■'HE  poet's  portion. 


THE  POET'S   POETION. 

What  is  a  mine  —  a  treasury  —  a  dower  — 
A  magic  talisman  of  mighty  power  ? 
A  poet's  wide  possession  of  the  earth. 
'He  has  the  enjoyment  of  a  flower's  birth 
Before  its  budding  —  ere  the  first  red  streaks,  — 
And  whiter  cannot  rob  him  of  their  cheeks. 
Look  —  if  his  dawn  be  not  as  other  men's! 
Twenty  bright  flushes  —  ere  another  kens 
The  first  of  sunhght  is  abroad — lie  sees 
Its  golden  'lection  of  the  topmost  trees, 
And  opes  the  splendid  fissures  of  the  mom. 
AVhen  do  his  fruits  delay,  when  doth  his  corn 
Linger  for  harvestinsr  ?     Before  the  leaf 
Is  commonly  abroad,  in  his  piled  sheaf 
The  flagging  poppies  lose  their  ancient  flame. 
No  sweet  there  is,  no  pleasure  I  can  name, 
But  he  will  sip  it  first  —  before  the  lees. 
'Tis  his  to  taste  rich  honey,  —  ere  the  bees 
Are  busy  with  the  brooms.     He  may  forestall 
June's  rosy  advent  for  his  coronal ; 
Before  the  expectant  buds  upon  the  bough, 
Twining  his  thoughts  to  bloom  ujion  his  brow. 
O  !  blest  to  see  the  flower  in  its  seed. 
Before  its  legify  presence  ;  for  indeed 
Leaves  are  but  wings,  on  which  the  summer  flies, 
And  each  thing  perishable  fades  and  dies. 
Escaped  in  thought ;  but  his  rich  thinldngs  be 
Like  overflows  of  immortality. 
So  that  what  there  is  steeped  shall  perish  never, 
But  live  and  bloom,  and  be  a  joy  forever. 


TIME,    HOPE,    AXD    MEMORY. — -SONG.  175 


TBIE,  HOPE,  AND   MEMORY. 

I  HEAUD  a  gentle  maiden,  in  the  spring, 
Set  her  sweet  sighs  to  music,  and  thus  sing  : 
"  Fly  thi-ough  the  world,  and  I  -will  follow  thee, 
Only  for  looks  that  may  tm-n  back  on  me  ; 

"  Only  for  roses  that  yom*  chance  may  throw  — 
Though  withered  —  I  Mill  wear  them  on  my  broM', 
To  be  a  thoughtful  fragrance  to  my  brain ; 
Warmed  with  such  love,  that  they  will  bloom  again. 

"  Thy  love  before  thee,  I  must  tread  behind. 
Kissing  thy  foot-prints,  though  to  me  unliind  ; 
But  trust  not  all  her  fondness,  though  it  seem. 
Lest  thy  true  love  should  rest  on  a  false  dream. 

"  Her  face  is  smiling,  and  her  voice  is  sweet : 

But  smiles  betray,  and  music  sings  deceit ; 

And  words  speak  false  ;  —  yet,  if  they  welcome  prove, 

I'll  be  their  echo,  and  repeat  then-  love. 

"  Only  if  wakened  to  sad  truth,  at  last. 
The  bitterness  to  come,  and  sweetness  past ; 
When  thou  art  vext,  then,  turn  again,  and  see 
Thou  hast  loved  Hope,  but  Memory  loved  thee." 


SONG. 

O  LADY,  leave  thy  silken  thread 
And  flowery  tapestrie  : 

There's  living  roses  on  the  bush, 
And  blossoms  on  the  tree  ; 


176  FLOWERS. 

Stoop  where  thou  wilt,  thy  careless  hand 
Some  random  bud  will  meet ; 

Thou  canst  not  tread,  but  thou  wilt  find 
The  daisy  at  thy  feet. 

'Tis  like  the  birthday  of  the  world, 

When  earth  was  born  in  bloom  ; 
The  light  is  made  of  many  dyes, 

The  air  is  all  perfume  ; 
There's  crimson  buds,  and  white  and  blue  - 

The  very  rainbow  showers 
Have  turned  to  blossoms  where  they  fell, 

And  sown  the  earth  with  flowers. 

There's  fairy  tulips  in  the  east, 

The  garden  of  the  sun  ; 
The  very  streams  reflect  the  hues. 

And  blossom  as  they  run  : 
While  Morn  opes  like  a  crimson  rose, 

Still  wet  with  pearly  showers  ; 
Then,  lady,  leave  the  silken  thread 

Thou  twinest  into  flowers ! 


FLOWERS. 


I  WILL  not  have  the  mad  Clytie, 
Whose  head  is  turned  by  the  sun  ; 
The  tulip  is  a  courtly  quean. 
Whom,  therefore,  I  will  shun  ; 
The  cowshp  is  a  country  wench, 
The  violet  is  a  nun  ;  — 
But  I  will  woo  the  dainty  rose. 
The  queen  of  every  one. 


TO .  177 

The  pea  is  but  a  wanton  witch, 
In  too  much  haste  to  wed, 
And  clasps  her  lings  on  every  hand ; 
The  wolfsbane  I  should  dread  ;  — 
Nor  will  I  dreary  rosemarye, 
That  always  mourns  the  dead  ;  — 
But  I  will  woo  the  dainty  rose, 
"With  her  cheeks  of  tender  red. 

The  lily  is  all  in  wliite,  hke  a  saint. 

And  so  is  no  mate  for  me  — 

And  the  daisy's  cheek  is  tipped  with  a  blush, 

She  is  of  such  low  degree  ; 

Jasmine  is  sweet,  and  has  many  loves, 

And  the  broom's  betrothed  to  the  bee ;  — 

But  I  wll  plight  with  the  dainty  rose, 

For  fairest  of  all  is  slie. 


TO 


Still  glides  the  gentle  streamlet  on, 
"With  shifting  cun-ent  new  and  strange ; 
The  water  that  was  here  is  gone, 
But  those  green  shadows  never  change:. 

Serene  or  ruffled  by  the  storm. 
On  present  waves,  as  on  the  past. 
The  mirrored  grove  retains  its  form, 
The  self-same  trees  their  semblance  cast 

The  hue  each  fleeting  globule  wears, 
That  drop  bequeaths  it  tn  thf^  next; 
One  picture  still  the  surface  bears, 
To  illustrate  the  murmured  texL 


178  TO 

So,  love,  however  time  may  flow, 
Fresh  hom-s  pm-siiing  those  that  flee. 
One  constant  image  still  shall  show 
My  tide  of  life  is  ti-ue  to  thee. 


TO 


I  LOVE  thee  —  I  love  thee ! 

'Tis  all  that  I  can  say ;  — 
It  is  my  vision  in  the  night. 

My  dreaming  in  the  day ; 
The  very  echo  of  my  hearty 

The  blessing  when  I  pray  : 
I  love  thee  —  I  love  thee  1 

Is  all  that  I  can  say. 

I  love  thee  —  I  love  thee  1 

Is  ever  on  my  tongue  ; 
In  all  my  proudest  poesy 

That  chorus  still  is  sung  ; 
It  is  the  verdict  of  my  eyes. 

Amidst  the  gay  and  young  : 
I  love  thee  —  I  love  thee  ! 

A  thousand  maids  among. 

I  love  thee  —  I  love  thee  ! 

Thy  bright  and  hazel  glance, 
The  mellow  lute  upon  those  Ups, 

Whose  tender  tones  entrance  : 
But  most,  dear  heart  of  hearts,  thy  proofe 

That  still  these  words  enhance, 
I  love  thee  —  I  love  thee  ! 

Whatever  be  thy  chance. 


TO    .  SEHENADE.  179 


TO  . 

Let  us  make  a  leap,  my  dear, 
In  our  love  of  many  a  year, 
And  date  it  very  far  away, 
On  a  bright  clear  summer  day. 
When  the  heart  was  like  a  sun 
To  itself,  and  falsehood  none  ; 
And  the  rosy  lips  a  part 
Of  the  very  lo^ing  heart, 
And  the  shining  of  the  eye 
But  a  sign  to  know  it  by  ;  — 
When  my  faults  were  all  forgiven. 
And  my  life  deserved  of  Heaven. 
Dearest,  let  us  reckon  so, 
And  love  for  all  that  long  ago  ; 
Each  absence  count  a  year  complete, 
And  keep  a  birthday  when  we  meet. 


SERENADE. 


An,  sweet,  thou  little  knowest  how 

I  wake  and  passionate  watches  keep ; 
And  yet,  while  I  address  thee  now, 

Methinks  thou  smilest  in  thy  sleep. 
'Tis  sweet  enough  to  make  me  weep, 

That  tender  thought  of  love  and  thee, 
That  while  the  world  is  hushed  so  deep, 

Thy  soul's  perhaps  awake  to  me ! 

Sleep  on,  sleep  on,  sweet  bride  of  sleep  ! 
With  golden  visions  for  thy  dower. 


IgQ  BALLAD.  —  SONNETS. 

"While  I  this  midnight  \igil  keep, 
And  bless  thee  in  thy  silent  bower  ; 

To  me  'tis  sweeter  than  the  power 
Of  sleep,  and  fairy  dreams  unfurled, 

That  I  alone,  at  this  still  hour. 

In  patient  love  outwatch  the  world. 


BALLAD. 


It  was  not  in  the  winter 
Our  loving  lot  was  cast ; 
It  was  the  time  of  roses,  — 
We  plucked  them  as  we  passed 


That  churlish  season  never  frowned 
On  early  lovers  yet ! 
O,  no  —  the  world  was  newly  crowned 
"With  flowers  when  first  we  met. 

'Twas  twilight,  and  I  bade  you  go, 
But  still  you  held  me  fast ; 
It  was  the  time  of  roses,  — 
"We  plucked  them  as  we  passed ! 


SONNETS. 

TO    THE   OCEAN. 


Sn.\LL  I  rebuke  thee.  Ocean,  my  old  love. 
That  once  in  rage,  with  the  wild  winds  at  strife, 
Thou  darest  menace  my  unit  of  a  life, 
Sending  my  clay  below,  my  soul  above, 


SONNETS.  181 

Whilst  roared  thy  waves,  like  lions  when  they  rove 
By  night,  and  boimd  upon  their  prey  by  stealth  ? 
Yet  didst  thou  ne'er  restore  my  fainting  health  ?  — 
Didst  thou  ne'er  murmm-  gently  like  the  dove  ? 
Nay,  didst  thou  not  against  my  own  dear  shore 
Full  break,  last  link  between  my  land  and  me  ?  — 
My  absent  friends  talk  in  thy  very  roar, 
In  thy  waves'  beat  their  kindly  pulse  I  see, 
And  if  I  must  not  see  my  England  more. 
Next  to  her  soil,  my  grave  be  found  iu  thee  ! 

Coblentz,  May,  1835. 


LEAR. 


A  POOR  old  king,  with  sorrow  for  my  crown, 
Throned  upon  straw,  and  mantled  with  the  wind  — 
For  pity,  my  own  tears  have  made  me  blind. 
That  I  might  never  see  my  children's  frown  ; 
And  may  be  madness,  like  a  friend,  has  thrown 
A  folded  fillet  over  my  dark  mind. 
So  that  unkindly  speech  may  sound  for  kind,  — 
Albeit  I  know  not.  —  I  am  cliildish  grown  — 
And  have  not  gold  to  purchase  wit  withal  — 
I  that  have  once  maintained  most  royal  state  — 
A  verj'  bankrujjt  now,  tliat  may  not  call 
My  child,  my  child  —  all-beggared  save  in  tears, 
Wherewith  I  daily  weep  an  old  man's  fate. 
Foolish  —  and  blind  —  and  overcome  with  years  ! 


SONNET    TO    A    SONNET. 


E,.\RE  comix)sition  of  a  poet-knight, 
Most  chivalrous  amongst  chivahic  men, 
16 


■|g2  SOMMJiTS. 

Distinguished  for  a  polished  lance  and  pen 
In  tuneful  contest  and  in  tourney-fight ; 
Lustrous  in  scholarship,  in  honor  bright, 
Accomplished  in  all  graces  current  then, 
Humane  as  any  in  historic  ken, 
Brave,  handsome,  noble,  affable,  polite  ; 
Most  courteous  to  that  race  become  of  late 
So  fiercely  scornful  of  aU  land  advance, 
Rude,  bitter,  coarse,  implacable  in  hate 
To  Albion,  plotting  ever  her  mischance,  — 
Alas,  fair  verse  !  how  false  and  out  of  date 
Thy  phrase  "  sweet  enemy  "  applied  to  France ! 


FALSE    POETS    AND    TRUE. 

Look  how  the  lark  soars  upward  and  is  gone, 

Turning  a  spirit  as  he  nears  the  sky ! 

His  voice  Is  heard,  but  body  there  is  none 

To  fix  the  vague  excursions  of  the  eye. 

So,  poets'  songs  are  with  us,  though  they  die 

Obscured  and  hid  by  Death's  oblivious  shroud, 

And  earth  inherits  the  rich  melody, 

Like  raining  music  fi-om  the  morning  cloud. 

Yet,  few  there  be  who  pipe  so  sweet  and  loud. 

Their  voices  reach  us  through  the  lapse  of  space 

The  noisy  day  is  deafened  by  a  crowd 

Of  undistinguished  bhds,  a  twittering  race  ; 

But  only  lark  and  nightingale  forlorn 

Fill  up  the  silences  of  night  and  morn. 


TO 


My  heart  is  sick  with  longing,  though  I  feed 
On  hope  ;  Time  goes  with  such  a  heavy  pace 


SONNETS.  183 

That  neither  brings  nor  takes  from  thy  embrace, 

As  if  he  slept  —  forgetting  his  old  sjieed  : 

For,  as  in  sunshine  only  we  can  read 

The  march  of  minutes  on  the  dial's  face, 

So  in  the  shadows  of  this  lonely  place 

There  is  no  love,  and  time  is  dead  indeed. 

But  when,  dear  lady,  I  am  near  thy  heart, 

Thy  smile  is  time,  and  then  so  swift  it  flies, 

It  seems  we  only  meet  to  tear  apart 

With  aching  hands  and  Ungering  of  eyes. 

Alas,  alas !  that  we  must  learn  hours'  flight 

By  the  same  light  of  love  that  makes  them  bright ! 


rOR  THE    FOVRTEENTH    OF    FEBRUARY. 

No  popular  respect  will  I  omit 

To  do  the  honor  on  this  happy  day, 

When  every  loyal  lover  tasks  his  wit 

His  simple  truth  in  studious  rhymes  to  pay, 

And  to  his  mistress  dear  his  hopes  convey. 

Rather  thou  knowest  I  would  still  outrun 

All  calendars  mth  Love's,  —  whose  date  alway 

Thy  bright  eyes  govern  better  than  the  sun,  — 

For  with  thy  favor  was  my  life  begun ; 

And  stiU  I  reckon  on  from  smiles  to  smiles. 

And  not  by  summers,  for  I  thrive  on  none 

But  those  thy  cheerful  countenance  compiles : 

O  !  if  it  be  to  choose  and  call  thee  mine. 

Love,  thou  art  every  day  my  Valentine. 


TO    A    SLEEPING    CHILD. 


O,  'tis  a  touching  thing,  to  make  one  weep, 
A  tender  infant  with  its  curtained  eye. 


j  S  i  SONNETS. 

Breatliiiig  as  it  would  neither  live  nor  die 
With  that  unchanging  countenance  of  sleep ! 
As  if  its  silent  dream,  serene  and  deep, 
Had  lined  its  slumber  with  a  still  blue  sky, 
So  that  the  passive  cheeks  unconscious  lie. 
With  no  more  life  than  roses  — just  to  keep 
The  blushes  warm,  and  the  mild,  odorous  breath. 
O  blossom  boy !  so  calm  is  thy  repose, 
So  sweet  a  compromise  of  life  and  death, 
'Tis  pity  those  fair  buds  should  e'er  unclose 
For  memory  to  stain  their  inward  leaf. 
Tinging  thy  dreams  with  unacquainted  grief. 


The  world  is  -with  me,  and  its  many  cares. 

Its  woes  —  its  wants  —  the  anxious  hopes  and  fears 

That  wait  on  all  terrestrial  affairs  — 

The  shades  of  former  and  of  future  years  — 

Foreboding  fancies  and  prophetic  tears. 

Quelling  a  spirit  that  was  once  elate. 

Heavens !  what  a  wilderness  the  world  appears. 

Where  youth,  and  mirth,  and  health  are  out  of  date ; 

But  no  —  a  laugh  of  innocence  and  joy 

Resounds,  like  music  of  the  fairy  race. 

And,  gl.idly  turning  from  the  world's  annoy, 

I  gaze  upon  a  little  radiant  face. 

And  bless,  internally,  the  merry  boy 

Who  "  makes  a  son-shine  in  a  shady  place." 


HUMOROUS   POEMS. 


16 


(185) 


HUMOROUS    POEMS. 


MISS  KILMANSEGG  AND  HER  PRECIOUS  LEG. 

A    GOLDEX    LEGEND. 

"  What  is  here  ? 
Gold?  yellow,  glittering,  precious  gold?" 

TiMON  OF  Athens. 


Ut 


^cbigra. 


To  trace  the  Kilmansegg  pedigree, 
To  the  very  roots  of  the  family  tree, 

Were  a  task  as  rash  as  ridiculous  : 
Through  antedilu\ian  mists  as  thick 
As  London  fog  such  a  line  to  pick 
"Were  enough,  in  truth,  to  puzzle  Old  Nick, 

Not  to  name  Su-  Harris  Nicholas. 

It  wouldn't  requhe  much  verbal  strain 
To  trace  the  Kill-man,  perchance,  to  Caui ; 

But,  waiving  all  such  digi-essions. 
Suffice  it,  accorcUng  to  family  lore, 
A  Patriarch  Kilmansegg  lived  of  yore. 

Who  was  famed  for  his  great  possessions. 

Tradition  said  he  feathered  his  nest 
Through  an  agi'icultural  interest 
In  the  golden  age  of  farming  ; 
When  golden  eggs  were  laid  by  the  geese. 
And  Colchian  sheep  wore  a  golden  fleece, 

(187) 


188  MISS    KILMANSEGG 

And  golden  pippins  —  the  sterling  kind 

Of  Hesperus  —  now  so  hard  to  find  — 

Made  horticultui'e  quite  charming ! 

A  lord  of  land,  on  his  own  estate 
He  lived  at  a  very  lively  rate, 

But  his  income  would  bear  carousins" ; 
Such  acres  he  had  of  pasture  and  heath, 
With  herbage  so  rich  from  the  ore  beneath, 
The  very  ewe's  and  lambkin's  teeth 

Were  turned  into  gold  by  browsing. 

He  gave,  without  any  extra  thrift, 
A  flock  of  sheep  for  a  birthday  gift 

To  each  son  of  his  loins,  or  daughter : 
And  his  debts  —  if  debts  he  had  —  at  will 
He  liquidated  by  giving  each  bill 

A  dip  in  Pactolian  water. 

'Twas  said  that  even  his  pigs  of  lead, 
By  crossing  with  some  by  Midas  bred, 

Made  a  perfect  mine  of  his  piggery. 
And  as  for  cattle,  one  yearling  bull 
Was  worth  all  Smithfield-market  full 

Of  the  golden  bulls  of  Pope  Gregory. 

The  high-bred  horses  within  his  stud, 
Lilie  human  creatures  of  birth  and  blood, 

Had  their  golden  cups  and  flagons  : 
And  as  for  the  common  husbandry  nags. 
Their  noses  were  tied  in  money-bags. 

When  they  stopped  with  the  carts  and  wagons. 

Moreovei",  he  had  a  golden  ass. 
Sometimes  at  stall,  and  sometimes  at  grass. 
That  v.as  worth  liis  own  weight  in  money  — 


AND   HER  PRECIOUS   LEG.  189 

And  a  golden  hire,  on  a  golden  bank, 
Where  golden  bees,  by  alchemical  prank, 
Gathered  gold  instead  of  honey. 

Gold !  and  gold  !  and  gold  without  eiM ! 
He  had  gold  to  lay  by,  and  gold  to  spend. 
Gold  to  give,  and  gold  to  lend. 

And  reversions  of  gold  in  futuro. 
In  -wealth  the  family  revelled  and  rolled. 
Himself  and  -n-ife  and  sons  so  bold  ;  — 
And  his  daughters  sang  to  their  harps  of  gold 

"  O  bella  eta  del'  oro !  " 

Such  was  the  tale  of  the  Kilmansegg  kin 

In  golden  text  on  a  vellum  skin. 

Though  certain  people  Avould  wink  and  grin, 

And  declare  the  whole  story  a  parable  — 
That  the  ancestor  rich  was  one  Jacob  Ghriraes, 
Who  held  a  long  lease,  in  prosperous  times. 

Of  acres,  pasture  and  arable. 

That  as  money  makes  money,  his  golden  bees 
Were  the  Five  per  Cents,  or  which  you  please, 

When  his  cash  was  more  than  plenty  — 
That  the  golden  cups  were  racing  affairs ; 
And  his  daughters,  who  sung  Italian  airs. 

Had  their  golden  harps  of  Clementi. 

That  the  golden  ass,  or  golden  bull. 
Was  English  John,  with  his  pockets  full, 

Then  at  war  ])y  land  and  water : 
While  beef,  and  mutton,  and  other  meat, 
Were  almost  as  dear  as  money  to  eat, 
And  farmers  reaped  golden  harvests  of  wheat 

At  the  Lord  knows  what  per  quarter  ! 


190  MISS    KILMANSEGG 

What  different  dooms  our  birthdays  bring ! 
For  instance,  one  little  nianildn  thing 

Survives  to  wear  many  a  wrinkle  ; 
While  death  forbids  another  to  wake, 
And  a  son  that  it  took  nine  moons  to  make 

Expires  without  even  a  twinkle : 

Into  this  world  we  come  like  ships. 

Launched  from  the  doclvs,  and  stocks,  and  slips, 

For  fortune  fair  or  fatal ; 
And  one  little  craft  is  cast  away 
In  its  very  first  trip  in  Babbicome  Baj^, 

While  another  rides  safe  at  Port  Natal. 

What  different  lots  our  stars  accord ! 

Tliis  babe  to  be  hailed  and  wooed  as  a  lord ! 

And  that  to  be  shunned  like  a  leper ! 
One,  to  the  world's  wine,  honey,  and  corn, 
Another,  like  Colchester  native,  born 

To  its  vinegar,  only,  and  pepper. 

One  is  littered  under  a  roof 
Neither  wind  nor  water  proof,  — 

That's  the  prose  of  Love  in  a  cottage,  — 
A  puny,  naked,  shivering  WTctch, 
The  whole  of  whose  birthright  would  not  fetch. 
Though  Robins  himself  drew  up  the  sketch, 

The  bid  of  "  a  mess  of  pottage." 

Born  of  Fortunatus's  kin, 
Another  comes  tenderly  ushered  in 

To  a  prospect  all  bright  ^nd  burnished  : 
No  tenant  he  for  life's  back  slums  — 
He  comes  to  the  world  as  a  gentleman  comes 

To  a  lodging  ready  furnished.     ' 


AND    HEK   PRECIOUS    LEG.  191 

And  the  other  sex  —  the  tender  —  the  fail-  — 

What  Avide  reverses  of  fate  are  there ! 

AVhilst  Margaret,  charmed  by  the  Bulbul  rare, 

In  a  garden  of  Gul  reposes, 
Poor  Peggy  hawks  nosegays  from  street  to  street 
Till  —  think  of  that,  who  find  life  so  sweet !  — 

She  hates  the  smell  of  roses ! 

Not  so  with  the  infant  Kilmansegg ! 
She  was  not  born  to  steal  or  beg, 

Or  gather  cresses  in  ditches ; 
To  jjlait  the  straw,  or  bind  the  shoe. 
Or  sit  all  day  to  hem  and  sew, 
As  females  must,  and  not  a  few  — 

To  fill  then-  insides  with  stitches ! 

She  was  not  doomed,  for  bread  to  eat, 

To  be  put  to  her  hands  as  well  as  her  feet — 

To  carry  home  Hnen  from  mangles  — 
Or  heavy-hearted,  and  weary-limbed. 
To  dance  on  a  rope  hi  a  jacket  trimmed 

With  as  many  blows  as  spangles. 

She  was  one  of  those  who  by  Fortune's  boon 
Are  bom,  as  they  say,  with  a  silver  spoon 

In  her  mouth,  not  a  wooden  ladle  : 
To  speak  according  to  poet's  wont, 
Plutus  as  sponsor  stood  at  her  font, 

And  Midas  rocked  the  cradle. 

At  her  first  dehut  she  found  her  head 
On  a  pillow  of  down,  in ,  a  downy  bed. 

With  a  damask  canopy  over. 
For  although  by  the  vulgar  popular  saw 
All  mothers  are  said  to  be  "  in  the  straw," 

Some  cliildi-en  are  born  in  clover. 


192 


MISS   KILMANSEGQ 


Her  very  first  draught  of  vital  air 
It  was  not  the  common  chameleon  fare 
Of  plebeian  lungs  and  noses,  — 
No  —  her  earliest  sniff 
Of  this  world  was  a  whifF 
Of  the  genuine  Otto  of  Roses ! 

When  she  saw  the  hght,  it  was  no  mere  ray 
Of  that  hght  so  common,  so  every-day. 

That  the  sun  each  morning  launches  ; 
But  six  wax  tapers  dazzled  her  eyes, 
From  a  thing  —  a  gooseberry-bush  for  size  — 

With  a  golden  stem  and  branches. 

She  was  born  exactly  at  half-past  two, 
As  witnessed  a  time-piece  in  or-molu 

That  stood  on  a  marble  table  — 
Showing  at  once  the  time  of  day. 
And  a  team  of  Gildings  running  away 

As  fast  as  they  were  able. 
With  a  golden  god,  with  a  golden  star, 
And  a  golden  spear,  in  a  golden  car. 

According  to  Grecian  fable. 

Like  other  babes,  at  her  birth  she  cried ; 
Which  made  a  sensation  far  and  wide. 

Ay,  for  twenty  miles  aroimd  her ; 
For  though  to  the  ear  'twas  nothing  more 
Than  an  infant's  squall,  it  was  really  the  roar 
Of  a  fifty-thousand  pounder  ! 
It  shook  the  next  heir 
In  his  library  chair. 
And  made  him  cry  "  Confound  her  1 " 

Of  signs  and  omens  there  was  no  dearth. 
Any  more  than  at  Owen  Gleudower's  birth, 


AXD    HER    PRECIOUS    LEG.  193 

Or  the  advent  of  other  great  people  : 
Two  bullocks  dropped  dead, 
As  if  knocked  on  the  head, 
And  barrels  of  stout 
And  ale  ran  about, 
And  the  village-bolls  such  a  peal  rang  out, 
That  they  cracked  the  village  steeple. 

In  no  time  at  all,  like  mushroom  spawTi, 
Tables  sprang  up  all  over  the  lawn ; 
Not  furnished  scantily  or  shabbily. 
But  on  scale  as  vast 
As  that  huge  repast, 
With  its  loads  and  cargoes 
Of  drink  and  botargoes, 
At  the  birth  of  the  babe  in  Rabelais. 

Hundreds  of  men  were  tunled  into  beasts. 
Like  the  guests  at  Circe's  horrible  feasts, 

By  the  magic  of  ale  and  cider  : 
And  each  country  lass,  and  each  country  lad, 
Began  to  caper  and  dance  like  mad. 
And  even  some  old  ones  appeared  to  have  had 

A  bite  from  the  Naples  spider. 

Then  as  night  came  on, 

It  had  scared  King  John, 
Who  considered  such  signs  not  risible, 

To  have  seen  the  maroons. 

And  the  whirling  moons, 

And  the  serpents  of  flame, 

And  wheels  of  the  same, 
That  according  to  some  were  "  whizzable." 

O,  happy  Hope  of  the  Kilmanseggs^ 
Thrice  happv  in  head,  and  bodv,  and  legs, 
"l7 


294  '^I^^®    KILMANSEGG 

That  her  parents  had  such  full  pockets  ! 
For  had  she  been  born  of  want  and  thrift. 
For  care  and  nursing  all  adrift, 
It's  ten  to  one  she  had  had  to  make  shift 

With  rickets  instead  of  rockets  ! 

And  how  was  the  precious  baby  drest  ? 
In  a  robe  of  the  East,  with  lace  of  the  West, 
Like  one  of  Croesus's  issue  — 
Her  best  bibs  were  made 
Of  rich  gold  brocade, 
And  the  others  of  silver  tissue. 

And  when  the  baby  inclined  to  nap 
She  was  lulled  on  a  Gros  de  Naples  lap, 
By  a  nurse  in  a  modish  Paris  cap, 

Of  notions  so  exalted, 
She  drank  nothing  lower  than  Cura<;oa, 
Maraschino,  or  pink  Noyau, 
And  on  principle  ne-\'er  malted. 

From  a  golden  boat,  with  a  golden  spoon, 
The  babe  was  fed  night,  morning,  and  noon ; 

And,  although  the  tale  seems  fabulous, 
'Tis  said  her  tops  and  bottoms  were  gilt, 
Like  the  oats  in  that  stable-yard  palace  built 

For  the  horse  of  Heliogabalus. 

And  when  she  took  to  squall  and  kick  — 
For  pain  will  wring  and  pins  will  prick 
E'en  the  wealthiest  nabob's  daughter  — 
They  gave  her  no  vulgar  Dalby  or  gin. 
But  a  liquor  with  leaf  of  gold  therein, 
Videlicet,  —  Dantzic  Water. 

In  short,  she  was  bom,  and  bred,  and  nurst, 
And  drest  in  the  best  from  the  very  first, 
To  please  the  genteelest  censor  — 


AND    HER   PKECIOUS    LEG.  195 

And  then,  as  soon  as  strength  would  allow, 
Was  vaccinated,  as  babes  ai-e  now. 
With  \irus  ta'en  from  the  best-bred  cow 
Of  Lord  Althorpe's  — now  Earl  Spencer. 

|jcr   Cbristnung. 
Though  Shakspeare  asks  us  "  What's  in  a  name  ?  " 
(As  if  cognomens  were  much  the  same,) 

There's  really  a  very  great  scope  in  it. 
A  name  ?  —  why,  wasn't  there  Doctor  Dodd, 
That  servant  at  once  of  ]\Iammon  and  God, 
Who  found  four  thousand  pounds  and  odd, 

A  prison  —  a  cai't  —  and  a  rope  in  it  ? 

A  name  ?  —  if  the  party  had  a  voice. 
What  mortal  would  be  a  Bugg  by  choice  ? 
As  a  Hogg,  a  Grubb,  or  a  Chubb  rejoice  ? 

Or  any  such  nauseous  blazon  ? 
Not  to  mention  many  a  \ailgar  name, 
That  would  make  a  door-plate  blush  for  shame. 
If  door-]3lates  were  not  so  brazen ! 

A  name  ?  —  it  has  more  than  nominal  worth, 
And  belongs  to  good  or  bad  luck  at  buth  — 

As  dames  of  a  certain  degree  know. 
In  spite  of  his  page's  hat  and  hose, 
His  page's  jacket,  and  buttons  in  rows. 
Bob  only  sounds  like  a  page  of  prose 

Till  turned  into  Rupertino. 

Now,  to  christen  the  infant  Kilmansegg, 
For  days  and  days  it  was  quite  a  plague, 

To  hunt  the  list  in  the  lexicon  : 
And  scores  were  tried,  like  coin,  by  the  ring. 
Ere  names  were  found  just  the  proper  thing, 

For  a  minor  rich  as  a  Mexican. 


jgg  MISS    KILMANSEGG 

Then  cards  were  sent,  the  presence  to  beg 
Of  all  the  kin  of  Kihnansegg, 

White,  yellow,  and  brown  relations : 
Brothers,  wardens  of  city  halls. 
And  uncles,  rich  as  three  golden  balls 

From  taking  pledges  of  nations. 

Nephews,  whom  Fortune  seemed  to  bewitch, 

Rising  in  life  like  rockets  — 
Nieces  whose  doweries  knew  no  hitch  — 
Aunts  as  certain  of  dying  ricli 

As  candles  in  golden  sockets  — 
Cousins  German,  and  cousins'  sons. 
All  thriving  and  ojjulent  —  some  had  tons 

Of  Kentish  hops  in  their  pockets  ! 

For  money  had  stuck  to  the  race  through  life 
(As  it  did  to  the  bushel  when  cash  so  rife 
Posed  Ali-Baba's  brother's  wife  )  — 

And,  down  to  the  cousins  and  coz-lings 
The  fortunate  brood  of  the  Kilmanseggs, 
As  if  they  had  come  out  of  golden  eggs, 

Were  all  as  wealthy  as  "  goslings." 

It  would  fill  a  Court  Gazette  to  name 
What  east  and  west  end  people  came 

To  the  rite  of  Christianity ; 
The  lofty  lord  and  the  titled  dame. 

All  diamonds,  plumes,  and  urbanity  ; 
The  Lordship,  the  Mayor,  with  his  golden  chain, 
And  two  Gold  Sticks,  and  the  sheriffs  twain. 
Nine  foreign  counts,  and  other  great  men 
With  then-  orders  or  stars,  to  help  M  or  N 

To  renounce  all  pomp  and  vanity. 

To  paint  the  maternal  Kilmansegg 
The  pen  of  an  Eastern  poet  would  beg, 


'and    her   precious    LEO.  197 

And  need  no  elaborate  sonnet ; 
How  she  sparkled  with  gems  whenever  she  stirred, 
And  her  head  niddle-noddled  at  every  word, 
And  seemed  so  happy,  a  paradise  bird 

Had  nidificated  ujaon  it. 

And  Sir  Jacob  the  father  sti-utted  and  bowed, 
And  smiled  to  himself,  and  laughed  aloud, 

To  think  of  his  heiress  and  daughter  — 
And  then  in  his  pockets  he  made  a  grope, 
And  then,  in  the  fulness  of  joy  and  hope, 
Seemed  washing  his  hands  with  invisible  soap 

In  imperceptible  water. 

He  had  rolled  in  money  like  pigs  in  mnd, 
Till  it  seemed  to  have  entered  uito  his  blood 

By  some  occult  projection  ; 
And  his  cheeks,  instead  of  a  healthy  hue. 
As  yellow  as  any  guinea  grew, 
Making  the  common  phrase  seem  true 

About  a  rich  complexion. 

And  now  came  the  nurse,  and  during  a  pause, 
Her  dead-leaf  satin  would  fitly  cause 

A  very  autumnal  rustle  — 
So  full  of  figure,  so  full  of  fuss, 
As  slie  carried  about  the  babe  to  buss, 

She  seemed  to  be  nothing  but  bustle. 

A  wealthy  Nabob  was  godpapa. 

And  an  Indian  Begum  was  godmampia, 

Whose  jewels  a  queen  might  covet; 
And  the  priest  Mas  a  vicar,  and  dean  withal 
Of  that  temple  we  see  with  a  golden  ball, 

And  a  golden  cross  above  it. 
17  # 


J98  MISS    ICILMANSEGG 

The  font  was  a  bowl  of  American  gold, 
Won  by  Raleigh  in  days  of  old, 

In  spite  of  Spanish  bravado  ; 
And  the  book  of  prayer  was  so  overrun 
"With  gilt  devices,  it  shone  in  the  sun 
Like  a  copy  —  a  presentation  one  — 

Of  Humboldt's  "  El  Dorado." 

Gold  !  and  gold  !  and  nothing  but  gold ! 
The  same  auriferous  shine  behold 

Wherever  the  eye  could  settle  ! 
On  the  walls  —  the  sideboard  —  the  ceiling-sky  — 
On  the  gorgeous  footmen  standing  by, 
In  coats  to  delight  a  miner's  eye 

With  seams  of  the  precious  metal. 

Gold  !  and  gold !  and  besides  the  gold, 
The  very  robe  of  the  infant  told 
A  tale  of  wealth  in  every  fold, 

It  lapped  her  lil^e  a  va])or ! 
So  fine !  so  thin !  the  mind  at  a  loss 
Could  compare  it  to  nothing  except  a  cross 

Of  cobweb  with  bank-note  paper. 

Then  her  pearls  —  'twas  a  perfect  sight,  forsooth, 
To  see  them,  like  "  the  dew  of  her  youth," 

In  such  a  plentiful  sprinkle. 
Meanwhile,  the  vicar  read  through  the  form, 
And  gave  her  another,  not  overwarm, 

That  made  her  little  eyes  twinkle. 

Then  the  babe  was  crossed  and  blessed  amain  ; 
But  instead  of  the  Kate,  or  Ann,  or  Jane, 

Which  the  humbler  female  endorses  — 
Instead  of  one  name,  as  some  people  prefix, 
Kilmansegg  went  at  the  tails  of  six. 

Like  a  carriage  of  state  with  its  horses. 


AND    HER    PRECIOUS    LEG.  199 

O  !  then  the  kisses  she  got  and  hugs  !    _ 
The  golden  mugs  and  the  golden  jugs, 

That  lent  fresh  rays  to  the  midges  ! 
The  golden  knives  and  the  golden  spoons, 
The  gems  that  sparkled  like  fahy  boons, 
It  was  one  of  the  Kilmansegg's  own  saloons, 

But  looked  like  Rundell  and  Bridge's  ! 

Gold !  and  gold  !  the  new  and  the  old ! 
The  company  ate  and  drank  from  gold. 

They  revelled,  they  sang,  and  were  merry ;  ^ 
And  one  of  the  Gold  Sticks  rose  from  his  chair 
And  toasted  "  the  lass  with  the  golden  hak" 

In  a  bumper  of  golden  sherry. 

Gold  !  still  gold  !  it  rained  on  the  nurse, 
Who,  unlike  Danae,  was  none  the  worse  ; 
There  was  notliing  but  guineas  ghstening ! 
Fifty  were  given  to  Doctor  James, 
For  calling  the  little  baby  names ; 
And  for  saying  Amen ! 
The  clerk  had  ten, 
And  that  was  the  end  of  the  Christening. 

I^cr  Cljilb^oob. 

Our  youth!  our  childhood  !  that  spring  of  springs! 
'TIS  surely  one  of  the  blessedest  tilings 

That  nature  ever  invented  ! 
When  the  rich  are  wealthy  beyond  their  wealth, 
And  the  poor  are  rich  in  si)irits  and  health. 

And  all  with  their  lots  contented ! 

There's  Httle  rhelhn,  he  sings  like  a  thrush, 
In  the  self-same  pair  of  patchwork  plush. 
With  the  self-same  empty  pockets. 


200  MISS    KILMANSEGG 

That  tempted  his  daddy  so  often  to  cut 
His  throat,  or  jump  in  the  water-butt  — 
But  what  cares  PhcUm  ?  an  empty  nut 
Would  sooner  bring  it>ar:,  to  their  sockets. 

Give  him  a  collar  without  a  skirt,  — 

That's  the  Irish  linen  for  shirt ; 

And  a  slice  of  bread,  with  a  taste  of  dirt, — 

That's  poverty's  Ii-ish  butter  ; 
And  what  does  he  lack  to  make  him  blest  ? 
Some  oyster-shells,  or  a  sparrow's  nest, 

A  candle-eud  and  a  gutter. 

But,  to  leave  the  happy  Phelim  alone, 
Gnawing,  perchance,  a  marrowless  bone, 

For  which  no  dog  would  quarrel  - — 
Turn  we  to  little  Miss  Kilman  segg, 
Cutting  her  first  Httle  toothy-peg 
With  a  fifty  guinea  coral  — 
A  peg  upon  which 
About  poor  and  rich 
Reflection  might  hang  a  moral. 

Born  in  wealth,  and  wealthily  nursed, 

Capped,  papped,  napped,  and  lapped  from  the  first 

On  the  knees  of  Prodigality, 
Her  childhood  was  one  eternal  rotmd 
Of  the  game  of  going  on  Tickler's  ground, 

Picking  up  gold  —  in  reality. 

With  extempore  carts  she  never  played, 
Or  the  odds  and  ends  of  a  Tinker's  trade. 
Or  httlc  dirt  pies  and  puddings  made, 

Like  children  happy  and  squalid  ; 
The  very  puppet  she  had  to  pet, 
Like  a  bait  for  the  "  Nix  my  Dolly  "  set. 

Was  a  doUy  of  gold  —  and  solid  I 


AND    HER    PRECIOUS    LEG.  201 

Gold  !  and  gold  !  'twas  the  burden  still ! 
To  gain  the  heiress's  early  good  will 

There  was  much  corruption  and  bribery ; 
The  yearly  cost  of  her  golden  toys  W 

Would  have  given  half  London's  charity-boys 
And  charity-girls  the  annual  joys 

Of  a  holiday  dinner  at  Highbury. 

Bon-bons  she  ate  from  the  gilt  cornet ; 
And  gilded  queens  on  St.  Bartlemy's  day ; 

Till  her  fancy  was  tinged  by  her  presents  — 
And  first  a  goldfinch  excited  her  wish, 
Then  a  spherical  bowl  with  its  golden  fish, 

And  then  two  golden  pheasants. 

Nay,  once  she  squalled  and  screamed  like  wild  — 
And  it  shows  how  the  bias  we  give  to  a  child 

Is  a  thing  most  weighty  and  solemn  :  — 
But  whence  w^as  wonder  or  blame  to  spring 
If  little  Miss  K.  — after  such  a  swing  — 
Made  a  dust  for  the  flaming  gilded  thing 

On  the  top  of  the  Fish-street  column  ? 

^er  C5i3utation. 

According  to  metaphysical  creed, 

To  the  earliest  books  that  children  read 

For  much  good  or  much  bad  they  are  debtors  — , 
But  before  with  their  ABC  they  start, 
There  are  things  in  morals,  as  well  as  art. 
That  play  a  very  important  part  — 

"  Impressions  before  the  letters." 

Dame  Education  begins  the  pile, 
Mayhap  in  the  graceful  Corintliian  style, 
But  alas  for  the  elevation ! 


202  MISS   KILMANSEGG 

If  the  lady's  maid  or  Gossip  the  nurse 
With  a  load  of  rubbish,  or  something  worse, 
Have  made  a  rotteii  foundation. 

E^  thus  mth  little  Miss  Ivilmansegg, 
Before  she  learnt  her  E  for  egg, 

Ere  her  governess  came,  or  her  masters  — 
Teachers  of  quite  a  different  kind 
Had  "  crammed  "  her  beforehand,  and  put  her  mind 

In  a  go-cart  on  golden  castors. 

Long  before  her  A  B  and  C, 

They  had  taught  her  by  heart  her  L.  S.  D. ; 

And  as  how  she  was  born  a  great  heiress  ; 
And  as  sm-e  as  London  is  built  of  bricks, 
My  lord  would  ask  her  the  day  to  fix 
To  ride  in  a  fine  gilt  coach  and  six. 

Like  Her  Worship  the  Lady  Mayoress. 

Instead  of  stories  from  Edgeworth's  page, 
The  true  golden  ore  for  our  golden  age. 

Or  lessons  from  Barbauld  and  Trimmer, 
Teaching  the  worth  of  virtue  and  health, 
AU  that  she  knew  was  the  virtue  of  wealth, 
Provided  by  vulgar  nursery  stealth, 

With  a  book  of  leaf-gold  for  a  primer. 

The  very  metal  of  merit  they  told, 

And  praised  her  for  being  as  "  good  as  gold ! " 

Till  she  grew  as  a  peacock  haughty  ; 
Of  money  they  talked  the  whole  day  round, 
And  weighed  desert  like  grapes  by  the  pound. 
Till  she  had  an  idea,  from  the  very  sound, 

That  people  with  naught  were  naughty. 

They  praised  —  poor  children  with  nothing  at  all ! 
Lord !  how  you  twaddle  and  waddle  and  squall. 
Like  common-bred  geese  and  ganders ! 


AJfD    HER    PRECIOUS    LEG.  203 

What  sad  little  bad  figures  you  make 
To  the  rich  Miss  K.,  whose  plainest  seed-cake 
"Was  stufied  with  corianders ! 

They  praised  her  falls,  as  well  as  her  walk, 

Flatterers  make  cream  cheese  of  chalk. 

They  praised  —  how  they  praised  —  her  very  small  talk, 

As  if  it  fell  from  a  Solon  ! 
Or  the  girl  who  at  each  pretty  phrase  let  drop 
A  ruby  comma,  or  pearl  full-stop, 

Or  an  emerald  semi-colon. 

They  praised  her  spirit,  and  now  and  then 
The  nurse  brought  her  own  little  "  nevy  "  Ben, 

To  play  with  the  future  mayoress : 
And  when  he  got  raps,  and  taps,  and  slaps, 
Scratches  and  pinches,  snips  and  snaps. 

As  if  from  a  tigress,  or  bearess. 
They  told  him  how  lords  would  court  that  hand, 
And  always  gave  him  to  understand, 

WhUe  he  rubbed,  poor  soul, 

His  can-otty  poll. 
That  his  hair  had  been  pulled  by  "  a  hairess." 

Such  were  the  lessons  from  maid  and  nurse, 
A  governess  helped  to  make  stiU  worse, 
Giving  an  appetite  so  perverse 

Fresh  diet  whereon  to  batten  — 
•  Beginning  with  A  B  C  to  hold 
Like  a  royal  playbill  printed  in  gold 

On  a  square  of  pearl-white  satiii. 

The  books  to  teach  the  verbs  and  nouns. 
And  those  about  countries,  cities  and  towns. 
Instead  of  their  sober  drabs  and  browns, 

Were  in  crimson  silk,  with  gilt  edges  ;  — 
Her  Butler,  and  Enfield,  and  Entick  —  in  short, 


204  *"SS    KILMANSEGO 

Her  "  early  lessons  "  of  every  sort, 

Looked  like  souvenirs,  keepsakes,  and  pledges. 

Old  Johnson  shone  out  in  as  fine  array 

As  he  did  one  night  when  he  went  to  the  play ; 

Chambaud  like  a  beau  of  King  Charles's  day  — 

Lindley  MuiTay  in  like  conditions  ; 
Each  weary,  unwelcome,  irksome  task, 
Appeared  in  a  fancy  dress  and  a  mask  — 
If  you  wish  for  similar  copies,  ask 

For  Howell  and  James's  editions. 

Novels  she  read  to  amuse  her  mind, 

But  always  the  afHuent  match-making  kind, 

That  ends  ^vith  Promessi  Sposi, 
And  a  father-in-law  so  wealthy  and  grand, 
He  could  give  check-mate  to  Coutts  in  the  Strand  ; 

So,  along  with  a  ring  and  posy. 
He  endows  the  bride  with  Golconda  oif-hand. 

And  gives  the  groom  PotosL 

Plays  she  perused  —  but  she  liked  the  best 
Those  comedy  gentlefoUis  always  possessed 

Of  fortunes  so  truly  romantic  — 
Of  money  so  ready  that  right  or  WTong 
It  always  is  ready  to  go  for  a  song. 
Throwing  it,  going  it,  jjitching  it  strong  — 
They  ought  to  have  purses  as  green  and  long 

As  the  cucumber  called  the  Gigantic. 

Then  Eastern  tales  she  loved  for  the  sake 
Of  the  purse  of  Oriental  make. 

And  the  thousand  pieces  they  put  in  it ; 
But  pastoral  scenes  on  her  heart  fell  cold, 
For  Natui-e  with  her  had  lost  its  hold. 
No  field  but  the  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold 

Would  ever  have  caught  her  foot  in  it. 


AXD    HER   PRECIOUS    LEG.  205 

What  more  ?  She  learnt  to  sing  and  dance, 
To  sit  on  a  horse,  aUhough-he  should  prance, 
And  to  speak  a  French  not  spoken  in  France 

Any  more  than  at  Babel's  building  ; 
And  she  painted  shells,  and  flowers,  and  Turks, 
But  her  great  delight  was  in  fancy  works 

That  are  done  with  gold  or  gilding. 

Gold  !  still  gold  I  —  the  bright  and  the  dead, 
With  golden  beads,  and  gold  lace,  and  gold  thread, 
She  worked  in  gold,  as  if  for  her  bread  ; 

The  metal  had  so  undermined  her. 
Gold  ran  in  her  thoughts  and  filled  her  brain, 
She  was  golden-headed  as  Peter's  cane 

With  which  he  walked  behind  her. 

per  3ltcti»cnt. 
The  horse  that  carried  Miss  Kilmansegg, 
And  a  better  never  lifted  leg, 

Was  a  very  rich  bay,  called  Banker  ; 
A  horse  of  a  breed  and  a  metal  so  rare,  — 
By  Bullion  out  of  an  Ingot  mare,  — 
That  for  action,  the  best  of  figures,  and  air. 

It  made  many  good  judges  hanker. 

And  when  she  took  a  ride  in  the  park. 
Equestrian  lord,  or  pedestrian  clerk, 

Was  thrown  in  an  amorous  fever, 
To  see  the  heu-ess,  how  well  she  sat. 
With  her  groom  behind  her.  Bob  or  Xat, 
In  green,  half  smothered  with  gold,  and  a  hat 

With  more  gold  lace  than  beaver. 

And  then  when  Banker  obtained  a  pat. 
To  see  how  he  arched  liis  neck  at  that ! 
He  snorted  with  pride  and  pleasure ! 
Like  the  steed  in  the  fable  so  lofty  and  grand, 
18 


206  MISS    KILMANSEGG 

Who  gave  the  poor  ass  to  understand 
That  lie  didn't  carry  a  bag  of  sand, 
But  a  burden  of  golden  treasure. 

A  load  of  treasure  ?  —  alas !  alas ! 

Had  her  horse  but  been  fed  upon  English  grass, 

And  sheltered  in  Yorkshire  spinneys, 
Had  he  scoured  the  sand  -with  the  desert  ass, 

Or  where  the  American  whinnies  — 
But  a  hunter  from  Erin's  turf  and  gorse, 
A  regular  thorough-bred  Irish  horse, 
Why,  he  ran  away,  as  a  matter  of  course, 

With  a  girl  worth  her  weight  in  guineas ! 

Mayhap  'tis  the  trick  of  such  pampered  nags 
To  shy  at  the  sight  of  a  beggar  in  rags. 

But  away,  like  the  bolt  of  a  rabbit, 
Away  Avent  the  horse  in  the  madness  of  fright, 
And  away  went  the  horsewoman  mocking  the  sight- 
Was  yonder  blue  flash  a  flash  of  blue  light, 

Or  only  the  skirt  of  her  habit  ? 

Away  she  flies,  with  the  groom  behind,  — 
It  looks  like  a  race  of  the  Calmuck  kind. 

When  Hymen  himself  is  the  starter  : 
And  tlie  maid  rides  first  in  the  four-footed  strife, 
Riding,  striding,  as  if  for  her  life, 
While  the  lover  rides  after  to  catch  him  a  wife, 

Althoufjh  it's  catchlnsr  a  Tartar. 

But  the  groom  has  lost  his  glittering  hat ! 
Though  he  does  not  sigh  and  pull  up  for  that  — 
Alas !  his  horse  is  a  tit  for  tat 

To  sell  to  a  very  low  bidder  — 
His  wind  is  ruined,  his  shoulder  is  sprung ; 
Things,  though  a  horse  be  handsome  and  young, 

A  purchaser  will  consider. 


AND    HER    PRECIOUS    LEG.  207 

But  Still  flies  the  heiress  through  stones  and  dust ; 
O,  for  a  fall,  if  fall  she  must, 

On  the  gentle  lap  of  Flora ! 
But  still,  thank  Heaven !  she  clings  to  her  seat  — 
Away  !  away !  she  could  ride  a  dead  heat 
"With  the  dead  who  ride  so  fast  and  fleet 

In  the  ballad  of  Leonora ! 

Away  she  gallops !  —  it's  awful  work  ! 
It's  faster  than  Turpin's  ride  to  York, 

On  Bess,  that  notable  clipper ! 
She  has  circled  the  ring  !  —  she  crosses  the  park ! 
Mazeppa,  although  he  was  stripped  so  stark, 

Mazeppa  couldn't  outstrip  her  ! 

The  fields  seem  running  away  vnth  the  folks  ! 
The  elms  are  having  a  race  for  the  oaks, 

At  a  pace  that  all  jockeys  disparages! 
All,  all  is  racing  !  the  Serpentine 
Seems  rusliing  past  like  the  "  arrowy  Rhine," 
The  houses  have  got  on  a  railway  line. 

And  are  off  like  the  first-class  cai-riages ! 

She'll  lose  her  life  !  she  is  losing  her  breath ! 
A  cruel  chase,  she  is  chasing  Death, 

As  female  shriekings  forewarn  her  : 
And  now  —  as  gratis  as  blood  of  Guelph  — 
She  clears  that  gate,  wliich  has  cleared  itself 

Since  then,  at  Hyde  Park  Corner ! 

Alas  !  for  the  hope  of  the  Kilmanseggs  ! 
For  her  head,  her  brains,  her  body,  and  legs. 
Her  life's  not  worth  a  copper  ! 
Willy-nilly, 
In  Piccadilly, 
A  hundred  hearts  turn  sick  and  chilly, 
A  hundred  voices  cry,  "  Stop  her  ! " 


208  **I*S    K.ILMANSEGG 

And  one  old  gentleman  stares  and  stands, 
Shakes  his  head  and  lifts  his  hands, 
And  says,  "  How  very  improper ! " 

On  and  on !  —  what  a  perilous  run ! 
The  iron  rails  seem  all  mingling  in  one, 

To  shut  out  the  Green  Park  scenery ! 
And  now  the  cellar  its  dangers  reveals, 
She  shudders  —  she  shrieks  —  she's  doomed,  she  feels. 
To  be  torn  by  powers  of  horses  and  wheels. 

Like  a  spinner  by  steam  macliinery ! 

Sick  with  horror  she  shuts  her  eyes. 
But  the  very  stones  seem  uttering  cries. 

As  they  did  to  that  Persian  daughter. 
When  she  climbed  up  the  steep  vociferous  hill, 
Her  little  silver  flagon  to  fill 

With  the  magical  golden  water  ! 

»  Batter  her !  shatter  her  ! 
.  Throw  and  scatter  her  !  " 
Shouts  each  stony-hearted  chatterer. 

"  Dash  at  the  heavy  Dover  ! 
Spill  her  !  kill  her  !  tear  and  tatter  her  ! 
Smash  her  !  crash  her ! "  (the  stones  didn't  flatter  her !) 
"  Kick  her  brains  out !  let  her  blood  spatter  her ! 

Roll  on  her  over  and  over  ! " 

For  so  she  gathered  the  awful  sense 

Of  the  street  in  its  past  unmacadamized  tense. 

As  the  wild  horse  overran  it,  — 
His  four  heels  making  the  clatter  of  six. 
Like  a  devil's  tattoo,  played  with  iron  sticks 

On  a  kettle-drum  of  granite  ! 

On  !  still  on  !  she's  dazzled  with  hints 
Of  oranges,  ribbons,  and  colored  prints, 


AND    HEn    PRECIOUS    XEG.  209 

A  kaleidoscope  jumble  of  shai3es  and  tints, 

And  human  faces  all  flashing, 
Bright  and  brief  as  the  sparks  from  the  flints 


That  the  desperate  hoof  keeps  dashin 


I 


On  and  on  !  still  frightfully  fast ! 

Dover-street,  Bond-street,  all  are  past ! 

But  —  yes  —  no  —  yes  !  —  they're  dovrn  at  last ! 

The  Furies  and  Fates  have  found  them ! 
Do\Mi  they  go  ■with  a  sparkle  and  crash, 
Like  a  bark  that's  struck  by  the  hghtning  flash  — 

There's  a  shriek  —  and  a  sob  — 

And  the  dense  dark  mob 
Like  a  billow  closes  ai'ound  them  ! 

****** 
#**«*• 

"  She  breathes  !  " 
«  She  don't !  " 
"  She'll  recover  ! " 
"  She  won't !  " 
"  She's  stirring !  she's  living,  by  Nemesis ! " 
Gold,  still  gold !  on  counter  and  shelf ! 
Golden  dishes  as  plenty  as  dclf  I 
Miss  Kilmansegg's  coming  again  to  herself 
On  an  opulent  goldsmith's  premises  ! 

Gold  !  fine  gold  !  —  both  yellow  and  red. 
Beaten,  and  molten  —  ])olished,  and  dead  — 
To  see  the  gold  with  profusion  spread 

In  all  forms  of  its  manufacture  ! 
But  what  avails  gold  to  Miss  Kilmansegg, 
When  the  femoral  bone  of  her  dexter  leg 

Has  met  with  a  compound  fracture  ? 
18* 


210  MIS3    KILMANSEGS 

Gold  may  soothe  Adversity's  smart ; 
Nay,  help  to  bind  up  a  broken  heart ; 
But  to  try  it  on  any  other  part 

Were  as  certain  a  disappointment, 
As  if  one  should  rub  the  dish  and  plate. 
Taken  out  of  a  Staffordshire  crate  — 
In  the  hope  of  a  golden  service  of  state  — 

With  Singleton's  "  Golden  Ointment." 

"  As  the  t'nig  is  bent,  the  tree's  inclined," 
Is  an  adage  often  recalled  to  mind, 

Referring  to  juvenile  bias  : 
And  never  so  well  is  the  verity  seen, 
As  when  to  the  weak,  Avarped  side  we  lean. 

While  life's  tempests  and  hurricanes  try  us. 

Even  thus  with  Miss  K.  and  her  broken  limbj, 
By  a  very,  very  remarkable  whim. 

She  showed  her  early  tuition  : 
While  the  buds  of  character  came  into  blow 
With  a  certain  tinge  that  served  to  show 
The  nurser}.-  cultm-e  long  ago. 

As  the  graft  is  known  by  fruition  I 

For  the  king's  physician,  who  nursed  the  case. 
His  verdict  gave  with  an  awful  face, 

And  three  others  concurred  to  egg  it ; 
That  the  patient,  to  give  old  Death  the  slip. 
Like  the  Pope,  instead  of  a  personal  trip. 

Must  send  her  leg  as  a  legate. 

The  limb  was  doomed,  —  it  couldn't  be  saved, 
And  like  other  people  the  patient  behaved. 
Nay,  bravely  that  cruel  parting  braved* 


AND    HF.K    Pli];CIOUS    LEG.  211 

"WTiich  makes  some  2)ersons  so  falter, 
They  rather  would  part,  ■\\athout  a  groan, 
'\^''ith  the  flesh  of  their  flesh,  and  bone  of  their  bone, 

They  obtained  at  St.  George's  altar. 

But  when  it  came  to  fitting  the  stump 
With  a  proxy  limb,  then  flatly  and  plump 

She  spoke,  in  the  spirit  olden ; 
She  couldn't,  she  shouldn't,  she  wouldn't  —  have  wood ! 
Nor  a  leg  of  cork,  if  she  never  stood, 
And  she  swore  an  oath,  or  something  as  good, 

The  i^roxy  limb  should  be  golden ! 

A  wooden  leg !  what,  a  sort  of  peg. 

For  yovu:  common  Jockeys  and  Jennies  ! 

No,-no,  her  mother  might  wony  and  plague  — 

Weep,  go  down  on  her  knees,  and  beg. 

But  nothing  would  move  Miss  Kilmansegg  ! 

She  could  —  she  would  have  a  Golden  Leg, 
If  it  cost  ten  thousand  guineas  ! 

Wood  indeed,  in  forest  or  park. 

With  its  sylvan  honors  and  feudal  bark, 

Is  an  aristocratlcal  article  : 
But  split  and  sawn,  and  hacked  about  to^vn, 
Serving  all  needs  of  pauper  or  clown. 
Trod  on !  staggered  on !     Wood  cut  down 

Is  vulgar  —  fibre  and  particle  ! 

And  cork  !  —  when  the  noble  cork-tree  shades 
A  lovely  group  of  Castilian  maids, 

Tis  a  thing  for  a  song  or  sonnet !  — 
But  cork,  as  it  stops  the  bottle  of  gin. 
Or  bungs  the  beer  —  the  small  beer  —  in, 
It  pierced  her  heart  like  a  corking-pin. 

To  think  of  standing  upon  it ! 


212  '^^"^^^    KILMANSEGG 

A  leg  of  gold  —  solid  gold  throughout, 
Nothing  else,  whether  slim  or  stout, 

Should  ever  support  her,  God  willing ! 
She  must  —  she  could  —  she  would  have  her  whim ! 
Her  father,  she  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  him  — 

He  might  kill  her  —  she  didn't  mind  killing ! 
He  was  welcome  to  cut  off  her  other  limb  — 

He  might  cut  her  all  off  Avith  a  shilling ! 

All  other  promised  gifts  Avere  in  vain, 

Golden  girdle,  or  golden  chain, 

She  writhed  with  impatience  more  than  pain, 

And  uttered  "  pshav/s  !  "  and  "  pishes  !  " 
But  a  leg  of  gold !  as  she  lay  in  bed. 
It  danced  before  her  —  it  ran  in  her  head ! 

It  jumped'with  her  clearest  wishes ! 

«  Gold  —  gold  —  gold  !     O,  let  it  be  gold  !  " 
Asleep  or  awake  that  tale  slie  told, 

And  when  she  grew  delirious  : 
Till  her  parents  resolved  to  grant  her  wish, 
If  they  melted  down  plate,  and  goblet,  and  dish, 

The  case  was  getting  so  serious. 

So  a  leg  was  made  in  a  comely  mould. 
Of  gold,  fine  virgin  glittering  gold. 

As  solid  as  man  could  make  it  — 
Solid  in  foot,  and  calf,  and  shank, 
A  prodigious  sum  of  monej-  it  sank ; 
In  fact,  'twas  a  branch  of  the  family  bank, 

And  no  easy  matter  to  break  it. 

All  sterling  metal,  — not  half-and-half. 

The  goldsmith's  mark  was  stamped  on  the  calf,  — 

'Twas  pure  as  from  Mexican  barter! 
And  to  make  it  more  costly,  just  over  the  knee, 
Where  another  ligatiu-e  used  to  be, 


AND    HER    PKECIOUS    LEG.  213 

Was  a  circle  of  jewels,  worth  shillings  to  see, 
A  new-fangled  badge  of  the  garter  ! 

'Twas  a  splendid,  brilliant,  beautiful  leg, 
Fit  for  the  court  of  Scander-Beg, 
That  precious  leg  of  ^IIss  Kilmansegg  ! 

For,  thanks  to  parental  bounty. 
Secure  from  mortification's  touch, 
She  stood  on  a  member  that  cost  as  much 

As  a  Member  for  all  the  County ! 

To  gratify  stem  Ambition's  whims, 

"What  hundreds  and  thousands  of  precious  limbs 

On  a  field  of  battle  we  scatter ! 
Severed  by  sword,  or  bullet,  or  saw, 
Off  they  go,  all  bleeding  and  raw,  — 
But  the  public  seems  to  get  the  lock-jaw, 

So  little  is  said  on  the  matter ! 

Legs,  the  tightest  that  ever  were  seen, 

The  tightest,  the  lightest,  that  danced  on  the  green, 

Cutting  capers  to  sweet  Kitty  Clover ; 
Shattered,  scattered,  cut,  and  bowled  down, 
Off  they  go,  worse  off  for  renown, 
A  line  in  the  Times,  or  a  talk  about  town, 

Than  the  leg  that  a  fly  runs  over ! 

But  the  procious  Leg  of  Miss  Kilmansegg, 
That  gowden,  goolden,-  golden  leg. 

Was  the  theme  of  all  conversation ! 
Had  it  been  a  pillar  of  church  and  state. 
Or  a  i^rop  to  support  the  whole  dead  weight, 
It  could  not  have  furnished  more  debate 

To  the  heads  and  tails  of  the  nation ! 


214  MISS    KILMANSEGG 

East  and  west,  and  north  and  south, 

Though  useless  for  either  hunger  or  drouth,  — 

The  Leg  was  m  every  body's  mouth, 

To  use  a  poetical  figure  ; 
Rumor,  in  taking  her  ravenous  swim. 
Saw,  and  seized  on  the  tempting  limb, 

Like  a  shark  on  the  leg  of  a  nigger. 

"Wilful  murder  fell  very  dead ; 

Debates  in  the  House  were  hardly  read  ; 

In  vain  the  police  reports  were  fed 

With  Ii'ish  riots  and  rumpuses  — 
The  Leg !  the  Leg !  was  the  great  event ; 
Through  every  circle  in  life  it  went, 

Lilie  the  leg  of  a  pair  of  compasses. 

The  last  new  novel  seemed  tame  and  flat ; 
The  Leg,  a  novelty  newer  than  that. 

Had  tripped  up  the  heels  of  fiction ! 
It  Burked  the  very  essays  of  Burke, 
And,  alas  !  how  wealth  over  wit  plays  the  Turk ! 
As  a  regular  ]3iece  of  goldsmith's  work. 

Got  the  better  of  Goldsmith's  diction. 

"  A  leg  of  gold !  what,  of  solid  gold  ?  " 
Cried  rich  and  poor,  and  young  and  old, 

And  Master  and  Miss  and  Madam  ; 
'Twas  the  talk  of  'change  —  the  alley  —  the  bank  ■ 
And  with  men  of  scientific  rank 
It  made  as  much  stir  as  the  fossil  shank 

Of  a  lizard  coeval  with  Adam ! 

Of  course  with  Green^^ich  and  Chelsea  elves, 
Men  who  had  lost  a  Hmb  themselves, 

Its  interest  did  not  dwindle  ;  ■• 

But  Bill,  and  Ben,  and  Jack,  and  Tom, 


AND    HER    PKrX'IOUS    LEG.  215 

Could  hardly  have  spun  more  yarns  therefrom, 
If  the  leg  had  been  a  spindle. 

Meanwhile  the  story  went  to  and  fro, 
Till,  gathering  Hke  the  ball  of  snow, 
By  the  time  it  got  to  Stratford-le-Bow, 

Through  exaggeration's  touches, 
The  heiress  and  hope  of  the  Kilmanseggs 
Was  propped  on  two  fine  golden  legs, 

And  a  pair  of  golden  crutches  ! 

Never  had  leg  so  great  a  run ! 

'Twas  the  "  go  "  and  the  "  kick  "  thrown  into  one : 

The  mode  —  the  new  thing  under  the  sun ! 

The  rage  —  the  fancy  —  the  passion ! 
Bonnets  were  named,  and  hats  were  worn, 
A  la  golden  leg  instead  of  Leghorn, 
And  stockings  and  shoes 
Of  golden  hues 
Took  the  lead  in  the  walks  of  fashion  ! 

The  Golden  Leg  had  a  vast  career, 

It  was  sung  and  danced  —  and  to  show  how  near 

Low  folly  to  lofty  approaches, 
Down  to  society's  very  dregs. 
The  belles  of  Wapping  wore  "  Kilmanseggs," 
And  St.  Giles's  beaux  sported  golden  legs 

In  their  pinchbeck  pins  and  brooches  ! 

f  u  first  ^ttp. 

Supposing  the  trunk  and  limbs  of  man 
Shared,  on  the  allegorical  plan. 

By  the  passions  that  mark  humanity. 
Whichever  might  claim  the  head,  or  heart, 
The  stomach,  or  any  other  part, 

The  legs  would  be  seized  by  Vanity. 


216  MISS    KILMANSEGG 

There's  Bardus,  a  six-foot  column  of  fop, 
A  lighthouse  without  any  light  atop, 

Whose  height  would  attract  beholders. 
If  he  had  not  lost  some  inches  clear 
By  looldng  down  at  his  kerseymere, 
Ogling  the  limbs  he  holds  so  dear, 

Till  he  got  a  stoop  in  his  shoulders. 

Talk  of  art,  of  science,  or  books. 
And  down  go  the  everlasting  looks, 

To  his  crm-al  beauties  so  wedded ! 
Try  him,  whenever  you  will,  you  find 
His  mind  in  his  legs,  and  his  legs  in  his  mind, 
All  prongs  and  folly  —  in  short,  a  kind 

Of  fork  —  that  is  fiddle-headed. 

What  wonder,  then,  if  Miss  Kilmansegg, 
With  a  splendid,  brilliant,  beautiful  Leg, 
Fit  for  the  court  of  Scander-Beg, 
Disdained  to  liide  it,  like  Joan  or  Meg, 

In  petticoats  stuffed  or  quilted  ? 
"  Not  she  !  'twas  her  convalescent  whim 
To  dazzle  the  world  with  her  precious  limb, 

Nay,  to  go  a  little  high-kilted. 

So  cards  were  sent  for  that  sort  of  mob 
Where  Tartars  and  Africans  hob-and-nob. 
And  the  Cherokee  talks  of  his  cab  and  cob 

To  PoUsh  or  Lapland  lovers  — 
Cards  like  that  hieroglyphical  call 
To  a  geographical  Fancy  Ball 

On  the  recent  post-office  covers. 

For  if  Hon-hunters  —  and  great  ones  too  — 

Would  mob  a  savage  from  Latakoo, 

Or  squeeze  for  a  glimpse  of  Prince  Le  Boo, 


A2iD    HEE    PRECIOUS    LEG.  217 

That  unfortunate  Sandwich  scion  — 
Hundreds  of  first-rate  people,  no  doubt, 
Would  gladly,  madly,  rush  to  a  rout. 

That  promised  a  Golden  Lion ! 

'§tx  Jancg  ^all. 
Of  all  the  spirits  of  e^^l  fame 
That  hurt  the  soul  or  injure  the  frame. 

And  poison  what's  honest  and  hearty. 
There's  none  more  needs  a  Mathew  to  preach 
A  cooling,  antiphlogistic  speech, 
To  praise  and  enforce 
A  temperate  com'se. 
Than  the  E\il  Spirit  of  Party. 

Go  to  the  House  of  Commons,  or  Lords, 
And  they  seem  to  be  busy  with  simple  words 

In  their  popular  sense  or  pedantic  — 
But,  alas !  with  their  cheers,  and  sneers,  and  jeers, 
They're  really  busy,  whatever  appears, 
Putting  peas  in  each  other's  ears, 

To  drive  their  enemies  frantic  ! 

Thus  Tories  love  to  worry  the  tV^'higs, 

"Who  treat  them  in  turn  like  Schwalbach  pigs, 

Gi\Tng  them  lashes,  thrashes,  and  digs. 

With  their  writhing  and  pain  deUghted  — 
But  after  all  that's  said,  and  more, 
The  malice  and  spite  of  Party  are  poor 
To  the  malice  and  spite  of  a  party  next  doer, 

To  a  party  not  inrited. 

On  with  the  cap  and  out  with  the  light, 
Weariness  bids  the  world  good-night, 

At  least  for  the  usual  season  ; 
But,  bark !  a  clatter  of  horses'  heels ; 
19 


218  MISS    KILMANSEGG 

And  Sleep  and  Silence  are  broken  on  Avheels, 
Like  Wilful  INIurdei-  and  Treason  ! 

Another  crash  —  and  the  carriage  goes  — 
Again  poor  Wearmess  seeks  the  repose 

That  Nature  demands  imperious  ; 
But  Echo  takes  up  the  burden  now, 
With  a  rattling  chorus  of  roAv-de-dow-dow, 
Till  Silence  herself  seems  making  a  row, 

Like  a  Quaker  gone  delirious  ! 

'TIs  night  —  a  winter  night —  and  the  stars 
Are  shining  like  winkin'  —  Venus  and  Mars 
Are  rolling  along  in  then-  golden  cars 

Through  the  sky's  serene  expansion  — 
But  vainly  the  stars  dispense  their  rays, 
"Venus  and  Mars  are  lost  in  the  blaze 

Of  the  Kilmanseggs'  luminous  mansion ! 

Up  jumps  Fear  m  a  terrible  fright! 

His  bed-chamber  windows  look  so  bright. 

With  light  all  the  square  is  glutted ! 
Up  he  jumps,  like  a  sole  from  the  pan, 
And  a  tremor  -sickens  his  inward  man, 
For  he  feels  as  only  a  gentleman  can 

Who  thmks  he's  being  "  gutted." 

Again  Fear  settles,  all  snug  and  warm ; 
But  only  to  dream  of  a  dreadful  storm 

From  Autumn's  sulphurous  locker; 
But  the  only  electric  body  that  falls 
Wears  a  negative  coat  and  positive  smalls, 
And  draws  the  peal  that  so  appalls 

From  the  Kilmanseggs'  brazen  knocker ! 

Tis  Curiosity's  benefit  night  — 

And  perchance  'tis  the  English  second-sight, 


AND    HEE,   PEECIOUS    LEG.  219 

But  -whatever  it  be,  so  be  it  — 
As  the  friends  and  guests  of  Miss  Kilmansegg 
Crowd  in  to  look  at  her  Golden  Leg, 
As  many  more 
^lob  i-ound  the  door, 
To  see  them  going  to  see  it ! 

In  they  go  —  in  jackets  and  cloaks, 
Plumes,  and  bonnets,  turbans,  and  toques, 

As  if  to  a  Congress  of  Nations  : 
Greeks  and  Malays,  with  daggers  and  dhks, 
Spaniards,  Jews,  Chmese,  and  Turks  — 
Some  like  original  foreign  works. 

But  mostly  like  bad  translations. 

In  they  go,  and  to  work  like  a  pack, 

Juan,  Moses,  and  Shachabac, 

Tom,  and  Jerry,  and  Springheeled  Jack, 

For  some  of  low  Fancy  are  lovers  — 
Skirting,  zigzagging,  casting  about, 
Here  and  there,  and  in  and  out. 
With  a  crush,  and  a  rush,  for  a  full-bodied  rout 

In  one  of  the  stiffest  of  covers. 

In  they  went,  and  hxmted  about, 
Open-mouthed  like  chub  and  trout. 
And  some  with  the  upper  lip  thrust  out. 

Like  that  fish  for  routing,  a  barbel  — 
While  Sir  Jacob  stood  to  welcome  the  crowd. 
And  rubbed  his  hands,  and  smiled  aloud. 
And  bowed,  and  bowed,  and  bowed,  and  bowed, 

Like  a  man  who  is  sawing  marble. 

For  princes  were  there,  and  noble  peers  ; 
Dukes  descended  from  Norman  spears  ; 
Earls  that  dated  from  early  years ; 


220  MISS    KILMANSEGG 

And  lords  in  vast  variety  — 
Besides  the  gentry  both  new  and  old  — ■ 
For  people  who  stand  on  legs  of  gold 

Axe  sure  to  stand  well  with  society. 

"  But  where  —  where  —  where  ?  "  with  one  accord 
Cried  Moses  and  Mufti,  Jack  and  my  Lord, 

Wang-Fong  and  II  Bondocani  — 
When  slow,  and  heavy,  and  dead  as  a  dump, 
They  heard  a  foot  begin  to  stump, 
Thump  !  lump  ! 
Lump !  thumj) ! 
Like  the  spectre  in  "  Don  Giovanni ! " 

And,  lo !  the  heiress.  Miss  Kilmansegg, 
With  her  splendid,  brilliant,  beautiful  leg. 

In  the  garb  of  a  goddess  olden  — 
Lilie  chaste  Diana  going  to  hunt, 
With  a  golden  spear  —  wliich  of  course  was  blunt. 
And  a  tunic  looped  up  to  a  gem  in  front, 

To  show  the  Leg  that  was  Golden  ! 

Gold  !  still  gold  !  her  Crescent  behold, 
That  should  be  silver,  but  would  be  gold ; 

And  her  robe's  auriferous  spangles  ! 
Her  golden  stomacher  —  how  she  would  melt ! 
Her  golden  quiver  and  golden  belt, 

Where  a  golden  bugle  dangles  ! 

And  her  jewelled  garter  ?     O,  sin  !  O,  shame  ! 
Let  Pride  and  Vanity  bear  the  blame. 
That  brings  such  blots  on  female  fame  ! 

But  to  be  a  true  recorder. 
Besides  its  thin  transparent  stuff, 
The  tunic  was  looped  quite  high  enough 

To  give  a  glimpse  of  the  Order ! 


AND    HER   PRECIOUS    LEG.  221 

But  -n-liat  have  sin  or  shame  to  do 

With  a  Golden  Leg  —  and  a  stout  one,  too  ? 

Away  with  all  Prudery's  panics  ! 
That  the  precious  metal,  by  thick  and  thin. 
Will  cover  square  acres  of  land  or  sin, 

Is  a  fact  made  plain 

Again  and  again. 
In  morals  as  well  as  meclianics. 

A  few,  indeed,  of  her  proper  sex, 

Who  seemed  to  feel  her  foot  on  their  necks, 

And  feared  theii-  charms  would  meet  with  checks 

From  so  rare  and  splendid  a  blazon  — 
A  few  cried  "  fie !  "  —  and  "  forward  "  —  and  "  bold !  " 
And  said  of  the  Leg  it  might  be  gold, 

But  to  them  it  looked  lilic  brazen  ! 

'Twas  hard,  they  hinted,  for  flesh  and  blood, 
Vu'tue,  and  beauty,  and  all  that's  good, 

To  strilie  to  mere  dross  theu-  topgallants  — 
But  what  were  beauty,  or  ^irtue,  or  worth. 
Gentle  manners,  or  gentle  birth, 
Nay,  Avhat  the  most  talented  head  on  earth 

To  a  Leg  worth  fifty  Talents  ! 

But  the  men  sang  quite  another  hymn 

Of  glory  and  praise  to  the  precious  limb  — 

Age,  sordid  age,  admired  the  whim. 

And  its  indecorum  pardoned  — 
While  half  of  the  young  —  ay,  more  than  half  — 
Bowed  down  and  worshi]i]3ed  the  Golden  Calf, 

Like  the  Jews  when  their  hearts  were  hardened. 

A  Golden  Leg  !  what  fancies  it  fired  ! 
What  golden  wishes  and  hojjcs  inspired ! 
To  give  but  a  mere  abridgment  — 
19* 


222  MISS    KILMANSEGG 

What  a  leg  to  leg-bail  Embarrassment's  serf! 
What  a  leg  for  a  leg  to  take  on  the  tnrf ! 
What  a  leg  for  a  marching  regiment ! 

A  Golden  Leg  !  —  whatever  Love  sings, 
'Twas  Avorth  a  bushel  of  "  plain  gold  rings," 

With  which  the  romantic  wheedles. 
'Twas  worth  all  the  legs  in  stockings  and  socks  ■ 
'Twas  a  leg  that  might  be  put  in  the  stocks, 

N.  B.  —  Not  the  parish  beadle's  ! 

And  Lady  K.  nid-nodded  her  head, 
Lapped  in  a  turban  fancy-bred. 
Just  like  a  love-apple,  huge  and  red. 
Some  Mussul-womanish  mystery ; 
But  whatever  she  meant 
To  represent, 
She  talked  like  the  Muse  of  Historj'. 

She  told  how  the  filial  leg  was  lost ; 
And  then  how  much  the  gold  one  cost ; 

With  its  weight  to  a  Trojan  fraction  : 
And  how  it  took  off,  and  how  it  put  on  ; 
And  called  on  Devil,  Duke,  and  Don, 
Mahomet,  Moses,  and  Prester  John, 

To  notice  its  beautiful  action. 

And  then  of  the  Leg  she  went  in  quest  j 
And  led  it  where  the  light  was  best ; 
And  made  it  lay  itself  up  to  rest 

Li  postures  for  painters'  studies : 
It  cost  more  tricks  and  trouble,  by  half, 
Than  it  takes  to  exhibit  a  six-legged  calf 

To  a  boothful  of  country  cuddies. 

Nor  yet  did  the  heiress  herself  omit 
The  arts  that  help  to  make  a  hit. 


AND    HER    PRECIOUS    LEG.  223 

And  preserve  a  prominent  station. 
She  talked  and  laughed  far  more  than  her  share  ; 
And  took  a  part  in  "  Rich  and  Rare 
Were  the  Gems  she  wore  "  —  and  the  gems  were  there, 

Like  a  song  with  an  illustration. 

She  even  stood  up  with  a  count  of  France 
To  dance  —  alas  !  the  measures  we  dance 

When  Vanity  plays  the  piper ! 
Vanity,  Vanity,  apt  to  betray. 
And  lead  all  sorts  of  legs  astray. 
Wood,  or  metal,  or  human  clay,  — 

Since  Satan  first  played  the  \-iper ! 

But  first  she  doffed  her  hunting  gear. 

And  favored  Tom  Tug  with  her  golden  spear, 

To  row  with  down  the  river  — 
A  Bonze  had  her  golden  bow  to  hold ; 
A  Hei-mit  her  belt  and  bugle  of  gold ; 

And  an  Abbot  her  golden  quiver. 

And  then  a  space  was  cleared  on  the  floor. 
And  she  walked  the  Minuet  de  la  Cour, 
With  all  the  pomp  of  a  Pompadour ; 

But,  although  she  began  andante, 
Conceive  the  faces  of  all  the  rout. 
When  she  finished  off  with  a  whirligig  bout. 
And  the  Precious  Leg  stuck  stiffly  out 

Like  the  leg  of  a.  figurante  ! 

So  the  courtly  dance  was  goldenly  done, 
And  golden  opinions,  of  course,  it  won 

From  all  different  sorts  of  people  — 
Chiming,  ding-dong,  with  flattering  phrase, 
In  one  vociferous  peal  of  praise, 
Like  the  jieal  that  rings  on  royal  days 

From  Loyalty's  parish  steeple. 


224  ^'^^^   KILMANSEGG 

And  yet,  had  the  leg  been  one  of  those 
That  dance  for  bread  in  flesh-colored  hose, 

With  Rosina's  pastoral  bev)', 
The  jeers  it  had  met,  —  the  shouts  !  the  scoff! 
The  cutting  advice  to  "  take  itself  off," 

For  soimding  but  half  so  heavy. 

Had  it  been  a  leg  like  those,  perchance, 
That  teach  little  girls  and  boys  to  dance, 
To  set,  poussette,  recede,  and  advance. 

With  the  steps  and  figures  most  proper,  — 
Had  it  hopped  for  a  weekly  or  quarterly  sum, 
How  little  of  praise  or  grist  would  have  come 

To  a  mill  with  such  a  hopper ! 

But  the  leo-  was  none  of  those  limbs  forlorn  — 
Bartering  capers  and  hops  for  corn  — 
That  meet  with  public  hisses  and  scorn. 

Or  the  morning  jom-nal  denounces  — 
Had  it  pleased  to  caper  from  morn  till  dusk. 
There  was  all  the  music  of  "  Money  Musk  " 

In  its  ponderous  bangs  and  bounces. 

But  hark  !  —  as  slow  as  the  strokes  of  a  pump, 
Lump,  thump! 
Thump,  lump! 
As  the  Giant  of  Castle  Otranto  might  stump 

To  a  lower  room  from  an  upper  — 
Down  she  goes  with  a  noisy  dint, 
For,  taking  the  crimson  turban's  hint, 
A  noble  lord  at  the  head  of  the  Mint 
Is  leading  the  Leg  to  supper  ! 

But  the  supper,  alas  !  must  rest  untold. 
With  its  blaze  of  light  and  its  glitter  of  gold. 
For  to  paint  that  scene  of  glamour, 


AND    HER    PHECIOirS    LEG.  225 

It  would  need  the  great  Enchanter's  charm, 
"Who  waves  over  palace,  and  cot,  and  farm, 
An  arm  lilce  the  goldbeater's  golden  arm 
That  Avields  a  golden  hammer. 

He  —  only  He  —  could  fitly  state 

The  Massive  Service  of  Golden  Plate, 

With  the  proper  phrase  and  expansion  — 
The  Rare  Selection  of  Foreign  Wines  — 
The  Alps  of  Ice  and  Mountains  of  Pines, 
The  punch  in  Oceans  and  sugary  shrines, 
The  Temple  of  Taste  from  Gunter's  Designs  — 
In  short,  all  that  Wealth  with  A  Feast  combmes, 

In  a  Splendid  Family  Mansion. 

Suffice  it  each  masked  outlandish  guest 
Ate  and  di-ank  of  the  very  best. 

According  to  critical  conners  — 
And  then  they  pledged  the  hostess  and  host, 
But  the  Golden  Leg  was  the  standing  toast, 
And,  as  somebody  swore. 
Walked  off  with  more 
Than  its  share  of  the  "  hips ! "  and  honors ! 

"  Miss  Kilmansegg !  — 
Full  glasses  I  beg !  — 
Miss  Ivilmansegg  and  her  Precious  Leg  ! " 

And  away  went  the  bottle  careering ! 
Wine  in  bumpers  !  and  shouts  in  peals ! 
Till  the  Clown  didn't  know  his  head  fi'om  his  heels, 
The  Mussulman's  eyes  danced  tAVO-some  reels. 
And  the  Quaker  was  hoarse  with  cheering  ! 

Miss  Kilmansegg  took  off  her  Leg, 
And  laid  it  down  like  a  cribbage-peg, 


226  MISS    KILMANSEGG 

For  the  rout  was  done  and  the  riot : 
The  square  was  hushed  ;  not  a  sound  was  heard ; 
The  sky  was  gray,  and  no  creature  stirred, 
Except  one  Httle  precocious  bird, 

That  chirped  —  and  then  was  quiet. 

So  still  without,  —  so  still  within  ;  — 
It  had  been  a  sin 
To  drop  a  pin  — 
So  intense  is  silence  after  a  din. 

It  seemed  like  Death's  rehearsal ! 
To  stir  the  air  no  eddy  came  ; 
And  the  taper  burnt  with  as  still  a  flame. 
As  to  flicker  had  been  a  bimiing  shame, 
In  a  calm  so  universal. 

The  time  for  sleep  had  come,  at  last ; 
And  there  was  the  bed,  so  soft,  so  vast, 

Quite  a  field  of  Bedfordshire  clover ; 
Softer,  cooler,  and  calmer,  no  doubt, 
From  the  piece  of  work  just  ravelled  out, 
For  one  of  the  pleasures  of  having  a  rout 

Is  the  pleasure  of  haA-ing  it  over. 

No  sordid  pallet,  or  truckle  mean. 

Of  straw,  and  rug,  and  tatters  unclean  ; 

But  a  splendid,  gilded,  carved  machine. 

That  was  fit  for  a  royal  chamber. 
On  the  top  was  a  gorgeous  golden  wi-eath  ; 
And  the  damask  curtains  hung  beneath. 

Like  clouds  of  crimson  and  amber. 

Curtains,  held  up  by  two  little  plump  things. 
With  golden  bodies  and  golden  vnngs,  — 
Mere  fins  for  such  solidities  — 


AXD    HER    PRECIOUS    LEG.  227 

Two  Cupids,-  in  short, 
Of  the  regular  sort. 
But  the  housemaid  called  them  "  Cupidities." 

No  patchwork  quilt,  all  seams  and  scars, 
But  velvet,  powdered  with  golden  stars, 

A  fit  mantle  for  iV^i^r/i^comnianders  ! 
And  the  pillow,  as  white  as  snow  undimmed. 
And  as  cool  as  the  pool  that  the  breeze  has  skimmed, 
Was  cased  in  the  finest  cambric,  and  trimmed 

With  the  costliest  lace  of  Flanders. 

And  the  bed  —  of  the  eider's  softest  down, 
Twas  a  place  to  revel,  to  smother,  to  dro\ra 

In  a  bHss  inferred  by  the  poet : 
For  if  ignorance  be  indeed  a  bliss, 
What  blessed  ignorance  equals  this, 

To  sleep  —  and  not  to  know  it  ? 

O,  bed  !  O,  bed  !  deHcious  bed  ! 

That  heaven  upon  earth  to  the  weary  head ; 

But  a  place  that  to  name  would  be  ill-bred, 

To  the  head  with  a  wakeful  trouble  — 
'Tis  held  by  such  a  different  lease ! 
To  one,  a  place  of  comfort  and  peace, 
All  stuffed  with  the  down  of  stubble  geese, 

To  another  with  only  the  stubble ! 

To  one  a  perfect  halcyon  nest, 

All  calm,  and  balm,  and  quiet,  and  rest. 

And  soft  as  the  fur  of  the  cony  — 
To  another,  so  restless  for  body  and  head. 
That  the  bed  seems  borrowed  from  Nettlebed, 

And  the  pillow  fi-om  Stratford  the  Stony ! 

To  the  happy,  a  first-class  carriage  of  case, 
To  the  Land  of  Nod,  or  where  you  please  ; 


228  MISS    KILMANSEGG 

But  alas  !  for  the  watchers  and  weepers, 
Who  turn,  and  turn,  and  turn  agam. 
But  turn,  and  turn,  and  turn  in  vain, 
With  an  anxious  brain, 
And  thoughts  in  a  train 
That  does  not  run  upon  sleepers  ! 

Wide  awake  as  the  mousing  owl, 
Night-hawk,  or  other  nocturnal  fowl,  — 

But  more  profitless  vigils  keeping,  — 
Wide  awake  in  the  dark  they  stare, 
Filling  with  phantoms  the  vacant  air. 
As  if  that  crook-backed  tyrant  Care 

Had  plotted  to  kill  them  sleepmg. 

And  O  !  when  the  blessed  diurnal  light 
Is  quenched  by  the  providential  night, 

To  render  om-  slumber  more  certain, 
Pity,  pity  the  wretches  that  weep. 
For  thej-  must  be  wretched  who  cannot  sleep 

When  God  himself  draws  the  curtain ! 

The  careful  Betty  the  pillow  beats, 

And  airs  the  blankets,  and  smooths  the  sheets, 

And  gives  the  mattress  a  shaking  ; 
But  vainly  Betty  performs  her  jiart, 
If  a  ruffled  head  and  a  rumpled  heart 

As  well  as  the  couch  want  making. 

There's  Morbid,  all  bile,  and  verjuice,  and  nerves. 
Where  other  people  would  make  preserves,. 

He  turns  his  fruits  into  pickles : 
Jealous,  envious,  and  fretful  by  day. 
At  night,  to  his  own  sharp  fancies  a  prey. 
He  lies  like  a  hedgehog  rolled  up  the  wrong  way, 

Tormenting  himself  with  his  prickles. 


AND    HER   PRECIOUS    LEG.  .  229 

But  a  child  —  that  bids  the  world  good-night, 
In  downright  earnest,  and  cuts  it  quite  — 

A  cherub  no  art  can  copy,  — 
Tis  a  perfect  picture  to  see  him  lie 
As  if  he  had  supped  on  dormouse  pie, 
(An  ancient  classical  dish,  by  the  by) 

With  sauce  of  sjTup  of  poppy. 

O,  bed  !  bed  !  bed !  delicious  bed  ! 

That  heaven  upon  earth  to  the  weary  head, 

Whether  lofty  or  low  its  condition ! 
But,  instead  of  putting  our  plagues  on  shelves, 
In  our  blankets  how  often  we  toss  ourselves, 
Or  are  tossed  by  such  allegorical  elves 

As  Pride,  Hate,  Greed,  and  Ambition ! 

The  independent  Miss  Kilmansegg 
Took  off  her  independent  Leg 

And  laid  it  beneath  her  pillow, 
And  then  on  the  bed  her  frame  she  cast ; 
The  time  for  repose  had  come  at  last. 
But  long,  long  after  the  storm  is  past 

Rolls  the  turbid,  turbulent  billow. 

No  part  she  had  in  \nilgar  cares 

That  belong  to  common  household  affairs  — 

Nocturnal  annoyances  such  as  theirs 

Who  lie  with  a  shrewd  sm-mising 
That  while  they  are  couchant  (a  bitter  cup  !) 
Their  bread  and  butter  are  getting  up. 

And  the  coals  —  confound  them  I  —  are  rising. 

No  fear  she  had  her  sleep  to  postpone, 
Like  the  crippled  widow  who  weeps  alone, 
And  cannot  make  a  doze  her  own, 
20 


230  MISS    KILMANSEGG 

For  the  dread  that  mayhap  on  the  morrow, 
The  true  and  Christian  reading  to  balk, 
A  broker  will  take  up  her  bed  and  wallc, 

By  way  of  curing  her  sorrow. 

No  cause  like  these  she  had  to  bewail : 

But  the  breath  of  applause  had  blown  a  gale, 

And  winds  from  that  quarter  seldom  fail 

To  cause  some  human  commotion  ; 
But  whenever  such  breezes  coincide 
With  the  very  sprmg-tide 
Of  human  pride, 
There's  no  such  swell  on  the  ocean ! 

Peace,  and  ease,  and  slumber  lost. 

She  turned,  and  rolled,  and  tumbled,  and  tossed. 

With  a  tumult  that  would  not  settle  : 
A  common  case,  iiideed,  with  such 
As  have  too  little,  or  think  too  much. 

Of  the  precious  and  glittermg  metal. 

Gold  !  —  she  saw  at  her  golden  foot 
The  peer  whose  tree  had  an  olden  root, 
The  proud,  the  great,  the  learned  to  boot, 

The  handsome,  the  gay,  and  the  witty  — 
The  man  of  science  —  of  arms  —  of  art, 
The  man  who  deals  but  at  Pleasure's  mart, 

And  the  man  who  deals  in  the  city. 

Gold,  still  gold  —  and  true  to  the  mould ! 
In  the  very  scheme  of  her  dream  it  told ; 

For,  by  magical  transmutation. 
From  her  Leg  through  her  body  it  seemed  to  go. 
Till,  gold  above,  and  gold  below, 
She  was  gold,  all  gold,  from  her  little  gold  toe 

To  her  organ  of  Veneration  ! 


AND    HER   PRECIOUS    LEG.  231 

And  still  she  retained,  through  Fancy's  art, 
The  golden  bow,  and  the  golden  dart, 
With  wliich  she  had  played  a  goddess's  part 

In  her  recent  glorification. 
And  still,  like  one  of  the  self-same  brood. 
On  a  plinth  of  the  sell-same  metal  she  stood 

For  the  whole  world's  adoration. 

And  hymns  of  incense  around  her  rolled. 
From  golden  harps  and  censers  of  gold,  — 
For  Fancy  in  di-eams  is  as  uncontrolled 

As  a  horse  without  a  bridle  : 
What  wonder,  then,  from  all  checks  exempt, 
If,  inspu-ed  by  the  Golden  Leg,  she  di-eamt 

She  was  tmned  to  a  golden  idol  ? 

fjcx  Conrtsbip. 
When,  leaving  Eden's  happy  land, 
The  grieving  angel  led  by  the  hand 

Our  banished  father  and  mother, 
Forgotten,  amid  their  awful  doom, 
The  tears,  the  fears,  and  the  future's  gloom. 
On  each  brow  was  a  wreath  of  Paradise  bloom, 

That  our  parents  had  twined  for  each  other. 

It  was  only  while  sitting  like  figures  of  stone, 
For  the  grie\ing  angel  had  skyward  flown. 
As  they  sat,  those  two,  in  the  world  alone, 

With  disconsolate  hearts  nigh  cloven, 
That,  scenting  the  gust  of  happier  hours, 
They  looked  eu-ound  for  the  precious  flowers, 
And,  lo  !  —  a  last  relic  of  Eden's  dear  bowers — 

The  chaplet  that  Love  had  woven ! 

And  still,  when  a  pair  of  lovers  meet. 
There's  a  sweetness  in  aii",  unearthly  sweet, 


232  MISS    KILMANSEGG 

That  savors  still  of  that  happy  retreat 
Where  Eve  by  Adam  was  courted : 
Whilst  the  joyous  thi-ush,  and  the  gentle  dove. 
Wooed  theii-  mates  in  the  boughs  above. 
And  the  serpent,  as  yet,  only  sported. 

Who  hath  not  felt  that  breath  in  the  air, 

A  perfume  and  freshness  strange  and  rare, 

A  warmth  in  the  light,  and  a  bliss  every  where. 

When  young  hearts  yearn  together  ? 
All  sweets  below,  and  all  sunny  above, 
O  !  there's  nothing  iji  life  like  making  love, 

Save  making  hay  in  fine  weather  I 

Who  hath  not  found  amongst  his  flowers 
A  blossom  too  bright  for  this  world  of  oui-s. 

Like  a  rose  among  snows  of  Sweden  ? 
But,  to  tm-n  again  to  Miss  Kilmansegg, 
Where  must  Love  have  gone  to  beg, 
If  sueh  a  thing  as  a  Golden  Leg 

Had  put  its  foot  in  Eden  ? 

And  yet  —  to  tell  the  rigid  truth  — 

Her  favor  was  sought  by  age  and  youth  — 

For  the  prey  will  find  a  prowler ! 
She  was  followed,  flattered,  courted,  addressed. 
Wooed,  and  cooed,  and  wheedled,  and  pressed. 
By  suitors  from  North,  South,  East,  and  West, 

Like  that  heiress,  in  song,  Tibbie  Fowler  1 

But,  alas !  alas  1  for  the  woman's  fate, 
Who  has  from  a  mob  to  choose  a  mate  1 

'Tis  a  strange  and  painful  mystery  ! 
But  the  more  the  eggs,  the  worse  the  hatch  j 
The  more  the  fish,  the  worse  the  catch  ; 
The  more  the  sparks,  the  worse  the  match  j 

Is  a  fact  in  woman's  liistory. 


AND    HER    PRECIOUS    LEG.  233 

Give  her  between  a  brace  to  pick, 

And,  mayhap,  mth  luck  to  help  the  trick, 

She  will  take  the  Faustus,  and  leave  the  Old  Nick  — 

But,  her  future  bliss  to  baffle, 
Amongst  a  score  let  her  have  a  voice. 
And  she'll  have  as  little  cause  to  rejoice 
As  if  she  had  won  the  "  man  of  her  choice  " 

In  a  matrimonial  raffle ! 

Thus,  even  thus,  with  the  heiress  and  hope, 
Fulfilling  the  adage  of  too  much  rope. 

With  so  ample  a  competition, 
She  chose  the  least  worthy  of  all  the  group, 
Just  as  the  vulture  maizes  a  stoop, 
And  singles  out  from  the  herd  or  troop 

The  beast  of  the  worst  condition. 

A  foreign  count  —  who  came  incog., 
Not  under  a  cloud,  but  under  a  fog, 

In  a  Calais  packet's  fore-cabin. 
To  charm  some  lady  British-bom, 
With  his  eyes  as  black  as  the  fi-uit  of  the  thorn. 
And  liis  hooky  nose,  and  his  beard  half-shorn. 

Like  a  half-converted  Rabbin. 

And  because  the  sex  confess  a  charm 

In  the  man  who  has  slashed  a  head  or  arm, 

Or  has  been  a  throat's  undoing. 
He  was  dressed  like  one  of  the  glorious  trade. 
At  least  when  glory  is  off  parade. 
With  a  stock,  and  a  frock,  well  trimmed  with  braid, 

And  frogs  —  that  went  a-wooing. 

Moreover,  as  counts  are  apt  to  do, 
On  the  left-hand  side  of  his  dark  sintout. 
At  one  of  those  holes  that  buttons  go  through, 
20* 


234  MISS   KILMANSEGG 

(To  be  a  precise  recorder,) 
A  ribbon  he  wore,  or  rather  a  scrap, 
About  an  inch  of  ribbon  mayhap, 
That  one  of  his  rivals,  a  •whimsical  chap, 

Described  as  his  "  Retail  Order." 

And  then  —  and  much  it  helped  his  chance  — 
He  could  sing,  and  play  first  fiddle,  and  dance, 
Perform  charades  and  proverbs  of  France  — 

Act  the  tender,  and  do  the  cruel ; 
For  amongst  his  other  killing  parts. 
He  had  broken  a  brace  of  female  hearts. 

And  murdered  three  men  in  duel ! 

Savage  at  heart,  and  false  of  tongue. 
Subtle  with  age,  and  smooth  to  the  young, 

Like  a  snake  in  his  coiHng  and  curHng  — 
Such  was  the  count  —  to  give  him  a  niche  — 
Who  came  to  court  that  heiress  rich. 
And  knelt  at  her  foot  —  one  needn't  say  which  — 

Besieging  her  castle  of  Sterling. 

With  prayers  and  vows  he  opened  his  trench, 
And  plied  her  with  English,  Spanish,  and  French, 

In  phrases  the  most  sentimental ! 
And  quoted  poems  in  liigh  and  low  Dutch, 
With  now  and  then  an  Italian  touch, 
Till  she  yielded,  without  resisting  much, 

To  homage  so  continental. 

And  then,  the  sordid  bargain  to  close. 
With  a  miniatiu-e  sketch  of  his  hooky  nose, 
And  his  dear  dark  eyes,  as  black  as  sloes, 
And  his  beard  and  whiskers  as  black  as  those, 

The  lady's  consent  he  requited  — 
And  instead  of  the  lock  that  lovers  beg. 
The  count  received  from  Miss  Kilmansegg 


AND    HER   PRECIOUS    LEG.  235 

A  model,  in  small,  of  her  Precious  Leg  — 
And  so  the  couple  were  plighted  ! 

But,  O !  the  love  that  gold  must  crown ! 
Better  —  better,  the  love  of  the  clown, 
Who  admires  his  lass  in  her  Sunday  go^vn, 

As  if  all  the  fairies  had  di-essed  her  ! 
Whose  brain  to  no  crooked  thought  gives  birth, 
Except  that  he  never  will  part  on  earth 

With  his  true  love's  crooked  tester ! 

Alas  !  for  the  love  that's  linked  with  gold ! 
Better  —  better  a  thousand  times  told  — 

More  honest,  happy,  and  laudable. 
The  downright  loving  of  pretty  Cis, 
Who  wipes  her  lips,  though  there's  nothing  amiss, 
And  takes  a  kiss,  and  gives  a  kiss, 

In  which  her  heart  is  audible  ! 

Pretty  Cis,  so  smihng  and  bright, 

Who  loves  as  she  labors,  with  all  her  might, 

And  without  any  sordid  leaven  ! 
Who  blushes  as  red  as  haws  and  hips, 
Down  to  her  very  finger-tips, 
For  Roger's  blue  ribbons  —  to  her,  like  strips 

Cut  out  of  the  azure  of  heaven ! 

^er  Parragc. 

'Twas  morn  —  a  most  auspicious  one  ! 
From  the  golden  East  the  golden  sun 
Came  forth  his  glorious  race  to  run, 

Through  clouds  of  most  splendid  tinges ; 
Clouds  that  lately  slept  in  shade, 
But  now  seemed  made 
Of  gold  brocade. 
With  magnificent  golden  fringes. 


236  '^IS^    KILMANSEGQ 

Gold  above,  and  gold  below, 

The  earth  reflected  the  golden  glow, 

From  river,  and  hill,  and  valley  ; 
Gilt  by  the  golden  light  of  morn. 
The  Thames  —  it  looked  lilce  the  Golden  Horn, 
And  the  barge  that  carried  coal  or  com 

Like  Cleopatra's  galley ! 

Bright  as  a  cluster  of  golden-rod, 
Subm-ban  poplars  began  to  nod. 

With  extempore  splendor  furnished ; 
While  London  was  bright  with  glittering  clocks. 
Golden  dragons,  and  golden  cocks, 
And  above  them  all, 
The  dome  of  St.  Paul, 
With  its  golden  cross  and  its  golden  ball, 
Shone  out  as  if  newly  burnished ! 

And,  lo !  for  golden  hours  and  joys. 
Troops  of  glittering  golden  boys 
Danced  along  with  a  jocund  noise, 

And  their  gilded  emblems  carried  ! 
In  short,  'twas  the  year's  most  golden  day, 
By  mortals  called  the  first  of  May, 
When  Miss  Kilmansegg, 
Of  the  Golden  Leg, 
With  a  golden  ring  was  married  ! 

And  thousands  of  children,  women,  and  men, 
Counted  the  clock  from  eight  till  ten. 

From  St.  James's  sonorous  steeple ; 
For,  next  to  that  interesting  job, 
The  hanging  of  Jack,  or  Bill,  or  Bob, 
There's  nothing  so  draws  a  London  mob 

As  the  noosing  of  very  rich  joeople. 


AND    HER    PRECIOUS    LEG.  237 

And  a  treat  it  -was  for  a  mob  to  behold 
The  bridal  carriage  that  blazed  with  gold  ! 
And  the  footmen  tall,  and  the  coachman  bold, 

In  liveries  so  resplendent  — 
Coats  you  wondered  to  see  in  place, 
They  seemed  so  rich  with  golden  lace, 

That  they  might  have  been  independent. 

Coats  that  made  those  menials  proud 
Gaze  with  scorn  on  the  dingy  crowd, 

From  their  gilded  elevations ; 
Not  to  forget  that  saucy  lad, 
(Ostentation's  favorite  cad,) 
The  page,  who  looked,  so  splendidly  clad, 

Like  a  page  of  the  "  Wealth  of  Nations." 

But  the  coachman  carried  off  the  state. 
With  what  was  a  Lancashire  body  of  late 

Turned  into  a  Dresden  Figure  ; 
With  a  bridal  nosegay  of  early  bloom, 
About  the  size  of  a  birchen  broom. 
And  so  huge  a  white  favor,  had  Gog  been  groom. 

He  need  not  have  worn  a  bigger. 

And  then  to  see  the  groom  !  the  count ! 
With  foreign  orders  to  such  an  amount. 

And  whiskers  so  wild  —  nay,  bestial ; 
He  seemed  to  have  borrowed  the  shaggy  hair 
As  well  as  the  stars  of  the  Polar  Bear, 

To  make  him  look  celestial 

And  then  —  Great  Jove  —  the  struggle,  the  crush, 
The  screams,  the  heaving,  the  awful  rush, 

The  swearing,  the  tearing,  and  lighting,  — 
The  hats  and  bonnets  smashed  like  an  egg,  — 
To  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  Golden  Leg, 


238  *^ISS    KILMANSEGG 

Which,  betAveen  the  steps  and  Miss  Kilmansegg, 
Was  fully  displayed  in  alighting ! 

From  the  golden  ankle  up  to  the  knee 
There  it  was  for  the  mob  to  see ! 
A  shocking  act  had  it  chanced  to  be 

A  crooked  leg  or  a  skinny  : 
But  although  a  magnificent  veil  she  wore, 
Such  as  never  was  seen  before, 
In  case  of  blushes,  she  blushed  no  more 

Than  George  the  Fhst  on  a  guinea ! 

Another  step,  and,  lo  !   she  was  launched ! 
All  in  white,  as  brides  are  blanched, 

With  a  wreath  of  most  wonderful  splendor  — 
Diamonds,  and  pearls,  so  rich  in  device, 
That,  according  to  calculation  nice, 
Her  head  Avas  worth  as  royal  a  price 

As  the  head  of  the  Young  Pretender. 

Bravely  she  shone  —  and  shone  the  more 

As  she  sailed  through  the  crowd  of  squaUd  and  poor, 

Thief,  beggar,  and  tatterdemalion  — 
Led  by  the  count,  with  his  sloe-black  eyes 
Bright  with  triumjjh,  and  some  surprise. 
Like  Anson  on  making  sure  of  his  prize 

The  famous  Mexican  galleon 


I 


Anon  came  Lady  K..,  with  her  face 
Quite  made  up  to  act  with  grace. 

But  she  cut  the  performance  shorter, 
For  instead  of  pacing  stately  and  stiff. 
At  the  stare  of  the  vulgar  she  took  a  miff, 
And  ran,  full  speed,  into  church,  as  if 

To  get  married  before  her  daughter. 


AND    HER    PRECIOUS    LEG.  239 

But  Sir  Jacob  ^valked  more  slowly,  and  bowed 
Right  and  left  to  the  gaping  crowd, 

Wherever  a  glance  was  seizable  ; 
For  Sir  Jacob  thought  he  bowed  Uke  a  Guelph, 
And  therefore  bowed  to  imp  and  elf, 
And  would  gladly  have  made  a  bow  to  himself, 

Had  such  a  bow  been  feasible. 

And  last  —  and  not  the  least  of  the  sight, 
Six  "  Handsome  Fortunes  "  all  m  white. 
Came  to  help  in  the  marriage  rite, 

And  rehearse  their  own  hymeneals  ; 
And  then,  the  bright  procession  to  close. 
They  were  followed  by  just  as  many  beaux, 

Quite  fine  enough  for  ideals. 

Glittering  men  and  splendid  dames, 

Thus  they  entered  the  porch  of  St.  James', 

Pursued  by  a  thunder  of  laughter  ; 
For  the  beadle  was  forced  to  intervene. 
For  Jim  the  Crow,  and  his  May-day  Queen, 
With  her  gilded  ladle,  and  Jack  i'  the  Green, 

Would  fain  have  followed  after  ! 

Beadle-like  he  hushed  the  shout ; 

But  the  temple  was  full  "  inside  and  out," 

And  a  buzz  kept  buzzing  all  round  about 

Like  bees  when  the  day  is  sunny  — 
A  buzz  imiversal  that  interfered 
With  the  rite  that  ought  to  have  been  revered. 
As  if  the  couple  already  were  smeared 

With  Wedlock's  treacle  and  honey  ! 

Yet  wedlock's  a  very  awful  thing ! 
Tis  something  Uke  that  feat  in  the  ring 
Which  requires  good  nerve  to  do  it  — 


240 


MISS    KILMANSEGG 


"When  one  of  a  "  Grand  Equestrian  Troop  " 
Makes  a  jump  at  a  gilded  hoop, 

Not  certain  at  all 

Of  -what  may  befall 
After  his  getting  through  it ! 

But  the  count  he  felt  the  nervous  work 
No  more  than  any  polygamous  Turk, 

Or  bold  piratical  skipper, 
Who,  during  his  buccaneering  search, 
Would  as  soon  engage  "  a  hand  "  in  church 

As  a  hand  on  board  liis  clipper ! 

And  how  did  the  bride  perform  her  part  ? 
Like  any  bride  who  is  cold  at  heart, 

Mere  snow  with  the  ice's  glitter; 
What  but  a  Ufe  of  winter  for  her ! 
Bright  but  chilly,  alive  without  stir, 
So  splendidly  comfortless, — just  lilce  a  fir 

When  the  frost  is  severe  and  bitter. 

Such  were  the  future  man  and  wife ! 
Whose  bale  or  bliss  to  the  end  of  life 
A  few  short  words  were  to  settle  — 
Wilt  thou  have  this  woman  ? 

I  will  —  and  then, 
Wilt  thou  have  this  man  ? 
I  will,  and  Amen  — 
And  those  two  were  one  flesh,  m  the  angels'  ken, 
Except  one  Leg  —  that  was  metal. 

Then  the  names  were  signed  —  and  kissed  the  kiss ; 
And  the  bride,  who  came  from  her  coach  a  miss. 

As  a  countess  wallied  to  her  carriage — 
Whilst  Hymen  preened  his  plumes  like  a  dove, 
And  Cupid  fluttered  his  wings  above, 


A>'D    lIEli.   PRECIOUS    LEG.  241 

In  the  shape  of  a  fly  —  as  little  a  Love 
As  ever  looked  in  at  a  marriage  ! 

Another  crash  —  and  away  they  dashed, 
And  the  gilded  carriage  and  footmen  flashed 

From  the  eyes  of  the  gaping  peo])le  — 
"VYho  turned  to  gaze  at  the  toe  and  heel 
Of  the  golden  boys  beginning  a  reel, 
To  the  merry  sound  of  a  wedding-jieal 

From  St.  James's  musical  steeple. 

Those  wedding-lyclls  !  those  wedding-bells ! 
How  sweetly  they  sound  in  pastoral  dells 

From  a  tower  in  an  ivy-green  jacket!    . 
But  to^-n-raade  joys  how  dearly  they  cost! 
And  after  all  are  tumbled  and  tost. 
Like  a  i)eal  from  a  London  steeple,  and  lost 

In  town-made  riot  and  racket 

The  wedding-peal,  how  sweetly  it  peals 
With  grass  or  heather  beneath  our  heels,  — 

For  bells  are  Music's  laughter! 
But  a  London  peal,  well  mingled,  be  sure, 
With  vidgar  noises  and  voices  impure, 
What  a  harsh  and  discordant  overture 

To  the  harmony  meant  to  come  after  ! 

But  hence  with  Discord  —  perchance,  too  soon 
To  cloud  the  face  of  the  honeymoon 

What  a  dismal  occultation !  — 
Whatever  Fate's  concerted  trick, 
The  countess  and  count,  at  the  present  nick, 
Have  a  chicken  and  not  a  crow  to  pick 

At  a  sumptuous  cold  collation. 

A  breakfast  —  no  unsubstantial  mess. 
But  one  in  the  style  of  good  Queen  Bess, 
21 


242 


MISS    K.ILMANSEGG 


•\Yho  —  hearty  as  hippocampus  — 
Broke  her  fast  with  ale  and  beef, 
Instead  of  toast  and  the  Chinese  leaf. 

And  in  Ueu  of  anchovy  —  grampus ! 

A  breakfast  of  fowl,  and  fish,  and  flesh. 
Whatever  was  sweet,  or  salt,  or  fresh. 

With  wines  the  most  rare  and  curious  — 
Wines,  of  the  richest  flavor  and  hue  ; 
With  fruits  from  the  worlds  both  Old  and  New ; 
And  fruits  obtained  before  they  were  due 

At  a  discount  most  usurious. 

For  wealthy  palates  there  be,  that  scout 
What  is  in  season,  for  what  is  md, 

And  prefer  all  precocious  savor ; 
For  instance,  early  green  peas,  of  the  sort 
That  costs  some  four  or  five  guineas  a  quart; 

Where  the  Mint  is  the  principal  flavor. 

And  many  a  wealthy  man  was  there. 
Such  as  the  wealthy  city  could  spare. 

To  put  in  a  portly  appearance  — 
Men  whom  their  fathers  had  helped  to  gild  : 
And  men  who  had  had  their  fortunes  to  build. 
And  —  much  to  their  credit —  had  richly  filled 

Their  purses  by  pursy-verance. 

Men,  by  popular  rumor  at  least. 
Not  the  last  to  enjoy  a  feast! 

And  truly  they  were  not  idle ! 
Luckier  far  than  the  chestnut  tits, 
Which,  down  at  the  door,  stood  champing  their  bits, 

At  a  different  sort  of  bridle. 

For  the  time  was  come  —  and  the  whiskered  count 
Helped  his  bride  in  the  carriage  to  mounts 
Ajid  fain  would  the  Muse  deny  it. 


AND    HER    PEECIOUS    LEG.  243 

But  the  crowd,  including  two  butchers  in  blue, 
(The  regular  killing  Whitechapel  hue,) 
Of  her  Precious  Calf  had  as  ample  a  view, 
As  if  they  had  come  to  buy  it ! 

Then  away  !  away  !  with  all  the  speed 
That  golden  spurs  can  give  to  the  steed,  — 
Both  yellow  boys  and  guineas,  indeed, 

Concurred  to  urge  the  cattle,  ~ 
Away  they  went,  with  favors  -white, 
Yellow  jackets,  and  pannels  bright, 
And  left  the  mob,  lilie  a  mob  at  night, 

Agape  at  the  sound  of  a  rattle. 

Away  !  away  !  they  rattled  and  rolled. 

The  count,  and  his  bride,  and  her  Leg  of  Gold  — 

That  faded  charm  to  the  charmer ! 
Away,  —  through  Old  Brentford  rang  the  din, 
Of  wheels  and  heels,  on  their  way  to  win 
That  hill,  named  after  one  of  her  kin 

The  Hill  of  the  Golden  Farmer ! 

Gold,  still  gold  —  it  flew  like  dust ! 

It  tipped  the  post-boy,  and  paid  the  trust ; 

In  each  open  palm  it  Avas  freely  thi-ust ; 

There  was  nothing  but  giAing  and  taking ! 
And  if  gold  could  insure  the  future  hour. 
What  hopes  attended  that  biide  to  her  bower ; 
But,  alas  !  even  hearts  with  a  four-horse  power 

Of  opulence  end  in  breaking  ! 

^jcr   lloucgmoon. 

The  moon  —  the  moon,  so  silver  and  cold, 
Her  fickle  temper  has  oft  been  told. 

Now  shady  —  now  bright  and  sunny  — 
But,  of  all  the  lunar  things  that  change, 
The  one  that  shows  most  fickle  and  strange. 


244  MISS    KILMANSEGQ 

And  takes  the  most  eccentric  range, 
Is  the  moon  —  so  called  —  of  honey  ! 

To  some  a  full-grown  orb  revealed, 
As  big  and  as  round  as  Nerval's  shield, 

And  as  bright  as  a  burner  Bude-lighted ; 
To  others  as  dull,  and  dingy,  and  damp, 
As  any  oleaginons  lamp, 
Of  the  regular  old  parochial  stamp, 

In  a  London  fog  benighted. 

To  the  lo\ing,  a  bright  and  constant  sphere, 
That  makes  earth's  commonest  scenes  appear 

All  poetic,  romantic,  and  tender ; 
Hanging  with  jewels  a  cabbage-stump. 
And  investing  a  common  post,  or  a  pump, 
A  currant-bush  or  a  gooseberrj-  clump, 

With  a  halo  of  dreamUke  splendor.  ^ 

A  sphere  such  as  shone  from  Italian  skies, 
In  Juliet's  dear,  dark,  hquid  eyes, 

Tipping  trees  with  its  argent  braveries  — 
And  to  couples  not  favored  with  Fortune's  boons 
One  of  the  most  delightful  of  moons. 
For  it  brightens  their  pewter  platters  and  spoons 

Like  a  silver  service  of  Savory's ! 

For  all  is  bright,  and  beauteous,  and  clear. 
And  the  meanest  thing  most  precious  and  dear, 

When  the  magic  of  love  is  present : 
Love,  that  lends  a  sweetness  and  grace 
To  the  humlilest  spot  and  the  plainest  face  — 
That  turns  Wilderness  Row  into  Paradise  Place, 

And  Garlic  Hill  to  Mount  Pleasant ! 

Love  that  sweetens  sugarless  tea. 
And  makes  contentment  and  joy  agree 


AND    HER    PRECIOUS    LEG.  245 

With  the  coarsest  boarding  and  bedding  ; 
Love,  that  no  golden  ties  can  attach, 
But  nestles  under  the  humblest  thatch, 
And  will  fl}-  awa}'  from  an  emperor's  match 

To  dance  at  a  penny  wedding  ! 

O,  happy,  happy,  thrice  happy  state, 
When  such  a  bright  planet  governs  the  fate 

Of  a  pair  of  miited  lovers  ! 
'Tis  theirs,  in  spite  of  the  serpent's  hiss, 
To  enjoy  the  pm-e  primeval  kiss 
With  as  much  of  the  old  original  bliss 

As  mortality  ever  recovers  ! 

There's  strength  in  double  joints,  no  doubt, 

In  double  X  Ale,  and  Dublin  Stout, 

That  the  single  sorts  know  nothing  about  — 

And  a  fist  is  strongest  when  doubled  — 
And  double  aqua-fortis,  of  com-se. 
And  double  soda-water,  perforce, 

Are  the  strongest  that  ever  bubbled ! 


'&"■ 


There's  double  beauty  whenever  a  swan 
Swims  on  a  lake,  with  her  double  thereon ; 
And  ask  the  gardener,  Luke  or  John, 

Of  the  beauty  of  double-blo^ying  — 
A  double  dahlia  delights  the  eye  ; 
And  it's  far  the  loveliest  sight  in  the  sky 

When  a  double  rainbow  is  glowing  ! 

There's  warmth  in  a  pair  of  double  soles ; 
As  well  as  a  double  allowance  of  coals  — 

In  a  coat  that  is  double-breasted  — 
In  double  windows  and  double  doors ; 
And  a  double  U  wind  is  blest  by  scores 

For  its  warmth  to  the  tender-chested. 
21* 


246  ^"SS    KILMANSEGG 

There's  two-fold  sweetness  in  double-pipes ; 
And  a  double  barrel  and  double  snipes 

Give  the  sportsman  a  duplicate  pleasure : 
There's  double  safety  in  double  locks  ; 
And  double  letters  bring  cash  for  the  box ; 
And  all  the  world  knows  that  double  knocks 

Are  gentility's  double  measui-e. 

There's  a  double  sweetness  in  double  rhymes, 
And  a  double  at  whist  and  a  double  Times 

In  profit  are  certainly  double  — 
By  doubling,  the  hare  contrives  to  escape  : 
And  all  seamen  delight  in  a  doubled  cape, 

And  a  double-reefed  topsail  in  trouble. 

There's  a  double  chuck  at  a  double  chin, 

And  of  course  there's  a  double  pleasure  therein. 

If  the  parties  are  brought  to  telling  : 
And,  however  our  Dennises  take  offence, 
A  double  meaning  shows  double  sense ; 
And  if  proverbs  tell  truth, 
A  double  tooth 
Is  Wisdom's  adopted  dwelling  ! 

But  double  wisdom,  and  pleasure,  and  sense, 
Beauty,  respect,  strength,  comfort,  and  thence 

Through  whatever  the  list  discovers, 
They  are  all  in  the  double  blessedness  summed 
Of  what  was  formerly  double-drummed, 

The  marriage  of  two  true  lovers ! 

Now  the  Ivilmansegg  moon  —  it  must  be  told  — 
Though  instead  of  silver  it  tipped  with  gold  — 
Shone  rather  wan,  and  distant,  and  cold. 

And,  before  its  days  were  at  thirty. 
Such  gloomy  clouds  began  to  collect. 


AXD    HEE.   PRECIOUS    LEG.  247 

With  an  ominous  ring  of  ill  effect, 
As  gave  but  too  much  cause  to  expect 
Such  weather  as  seamen  call  dirty ! 

And  yet  the  moon  was  the  "  young  j\Iay  moon," 
And  the  scented  hawthorn  had  blossomed  soon. 

And  the  thrush  and  the  blackbu'd  were  singmg — 
The  snow-wliite  lambs  were  skipping  in  play, 
And  the  bee  was  humming  a  tune  all  day 
To  flowers  as  welcome  as  flowers  m  May, 

And  the  trout  in  the  stream  was  sprmging ! 

But  what  were  the  hues  of  the  blooming  earth. 
Its  scents — its  sounds  —  or  the  music  and  mirth, 

Or  its  furred  or  its  feathered  creatiu-es. 
To  a  pair  in  the  world's  last  sordid  stage, 
Who  had  never  looked  into  Nature's  page, 
And  had  strange  ideas  of  a  Golden  Age, 

Without  any  Arcadian  features  ? 

And  what  were  joys  of  the  pastoral  kind 

To  a  bride  —  town-made  —  with  a  heart  and  mind 

AVith  simplicity  ever  at  battle  ? 
A  bride  of  an  ostentatious  race. 
Who,  thrown  in  the  Golden  Farmer's  place, 
Would  have  trimmed  her  shepherds  with  golden  lace, 

And  gilt  the  horns  of  her  cattle. 

She  could  not  please  the  pigs  with  her  whim. 
And  the  sheep  wouldn't  cast  their  eyes  at  a  limb 

For  which  she  had  been  such  a  martyr  : 
The  deer  in  the  park,  and  the  colts  at  grass, 
And  the  cows,  unheeded  let  it  pass  ; 
And  the  ass  on  the  common  was  such  an  ass, 
That  he  wouldn't  have  swapped 
The  thistle  he  cropped 
For  her  Leg,  including  the  Garter ! 


248  ^^^^    KILMANSEGG 

She  hated  lanes,  and  she  hated  fields  — 
She  hated  all  that  the  country  yields  — 

And  barely  knew  turnips  from  clover  : 
She  hated  walking  in  any  shape, 
And  a  country  stile  was  an  awkward  scrape, 
Without  the  bribe  of  a  mob  to  gape 

At  the  Leg  in  clambering  over ! 

O  blessed  Nature,  "  O  rus  !  O  rus  !  " 
Who  cannot  sigh  for  the  countiy  thus, 

Absorbed  in  a  worldl)^  torpor  — 
Who  does  not  yearn  for  its  meadow-sweet  breath. 
Untainted  by  care,  and  crime,  and  death. 
And  to  stand  sometimes  upon  grass  or  heath  — 

That  soul,  spite  of  gold,  is  a  pauper  ! 

But  to  hail  the  pearly  advent  of  Morn, 
And  relish  the  odor  fresh  from  the  thorn, 

She  was  far  too  pampered  a  madam  — 
Or  to  joy  in  the  daj- light  waxing  strong, 
While,  after  ages  of  sorrow  and  wrong. 
The  scorn  of  the  proud,  the  misrule  of  the  strong, 
And  all  the  woes  that  to  man  belong. 
The  lark  still  carols  the  self-same  song 

That  he  did  to  the  uncurst  Adam  ! 

The  Lark !  she  had  given  all  Leipsic's  flocks 
For  a  Vauxhall  tune  in  a  musical  box  ; 

And  as  for  the  birds  in  the  thicket. 
Thrush  or  ousel  in  leafy  niche. 
The  linnet  or  finch,  she  was  far  too  rich 
To  care  for  a  morning  concert  to  which 

She  was  welcome  without  any  ticket. 

Gold,  still  gold,  her  standard  of  old, 
All  pastoral  joys  were  tried  by  gold. 
Or  by  fancies  golden  and  crural  — 


AND    HER   PRECIOUS    LEG.  249 

Till  ere  she  had  passed  one  week  unblest, 
As  her  agricultural  uncle's  guest, 
Her  mind  was  made  up  and  fully  imprest 
That  feUcity  could  not  be  rm-al. 

And  the  count  ?  —  to  the  snow-white  lambs  at  play, 
And  all  the  scents  and  the  sights  of  May, 

And  the  birds  that  warbled  their  passion, 
His  ears,  and  dark  eyes,  and  decided  nose 
Were  as  deaf  and  as  bUnd  and  as  dull  as  those 
That  overlook  the  Bouquet  de  Rose, 
The  Huile  Antique, 
And  Parfum  Unique, 
In  a  barber's  Temple  of  Fashion. 

To  tell,  indeed,  the  true  extent 
Of  his  rural  bias,  so  far  it  went 

As  to  covet  estates  in  ring  fences  — 
And  for  rural  lore  he  had  learned  in  town 
That  the  country  was  green  turned  up  with  brown. 
And  garnished  with  trees  that  a  man  might  cut  down. 

Instead  of  his  own  expenses. 

And  yet,  had  that  fault  been  his  only  one. 
The  pair  might  have  had  few  quarrels  or  none, 

For  their  tastes  thus  far  were  in  common ; 
But  faults  he  had  that  a  haughty  bride 
With  a  Golden  Leg  could  hardly  abide  — 
Faults  that  would  even  have  roused  the  pride 

Of  a  far  less  metalsome  woman ! 

It  was  early  days  indeed  for  a  vnfe, 
In  the  vei-y  sjjring  of  her  mairied  life, 

To  be  chilled  by  its  wintry  weather  — 
But,  instead  of  sitting  as  love-birds  do. 
Or  Hymen's  turtle8  that  bill  and  coo  — 


250 


MISS    KILMANSEGG 


Enjoj'ing  their  "  moon  and  honey  for  two," 
They  were  scarcely  seen  together  ! 

In  vain  she  sat  with  her  Precious  Leg 
A  Kttle  exposed,  a  la  Kilmansegg, 

And  rolled  her  eyes  in  theh  sockets  ! 
He  left  her  in  spite  of  her  tender  regards, 
And  those  loving  murmurs  described  by  bards, 
For  the  rattling  of  dice  and  the  shuffling  of  cards. 

And  the  poking  of  balls  into  pockets  ! 


Moreover  he  loved  the  deepest  stake 

And  the  heaviest  bets  the  players  would  make ; 

And  he  drank  —  the  reverse  of  sparely,  — 
And  he  used  strange  curses  that  made  her  fret ; 
And  when  he  played  with  herself  at  piquet, 
She  found,  to  her  cost, 
For  she  always  lost, 
That  the  count  did  not  count  quite  fahly. 

And  then  came  dark  mistmst  and  doubt, 
Gathered  by  worming  his  secrets  out, 

And  slips  in  his  conversations  — 
Fears,  which  all  her  peace  destroyed. 
That  his  title  was  null  —  his  coffers  were  void  — 
And  his  French  chateau  was  in  Spain,  or  enjoyed 

The  most  airy  of  situations. 

But  still  his  heart  —  if  he  had  such  a  part  — 
She  —  only  she  —  might  possess  his  heart, 

And  hold  his  affections  in  fetters  — 
Alas  !  that  hope,  like  a  crazy  ship, 
Was  forced  its  anchor  and  cable  to  slip, 
"When,  seduced  by  her  fears,  she  took  a  dip 

In  his  private  papers  and  letters. 


I 


AND    HER    PRECIOUS    LEG.  251 

Letters  that  told  of  dangerous  leagues  ; 
And  notes  that  hmted  as  many  intrigues 

As  the  count's  in  the  "  Barber  of  Se%ille  "  — 
In  short,  such  mysteries  came  to  light, 
That  the  countess-bride,  on  the  thutieth  night, 
Woke  and  started  up  in  affright. 
And  kicked  and  screamed  with  all  her  might, 
And  finally  fainted  away  outright. 

For  she  dreamt  she  had  married  the  DeAil ! 

Per  Piserg. 

Who  hath  not  met  mth  home-made  bread, 
A  heavy  compound  of  putty  and  lead  — 
And  home-made  wines  that  rack  the  head. 

And  home-made  liqueurs  and  waters  ? 
Home-made  pop  that  will  not  foam, 
And  home-made  dishes  that  drive  one  from  home, 
Not  to  name  each  mess, 
For  the  face  or  dress. 
Home-made  by  the  homely  daughters  ? 

Home-made  physic,  that  sickens  the  sick  ; 
Thick  for  thin  and  thin  for  thick  ;  — 
In  short,  each  homogeneous  trick 

For  poisoning  domesticity  ? 
And  since  our  Parents,  called  the  First, 
A  little  family  squabble  nurst. 
Of  all  our  e\'ils  the  worst  of  the  worst 

Is  home-made  infehcity. 

There's  a  golden  bird  that  claps  its  wings, 
And  dances  for  joy  on  its  perch,  and  sings 

With  a  Persian  exultation  : 
For  the  sun  is  shining  into  the  room, 
And  brightens  up  the  carpet-bloom, 


252  MISS    KILMANSEGG 

As  if  It  were  new,  bran-new  from  the  loom, 
Or  the  lone  nun's  fabrication. 

And  thence  the  glorious  radiance  flames 
On  pictures  in  massy  gilded  frames  — 
Enshrining,  however,  no  painted  dames, 

But  portraits  of  colts  and  fillies  — 
Pictm'es  hanging  on  walls  which  shine, 
In  spite  of  the  bard's  familiar  line, 

With  clusters  of  "  gilded  Ulies." 

And  still  the  flooding  sunlight  shares 
Its  lustre  with  gilded  sofas  and  chairs, 

That  shine  as  if  freshly  burnished  — 
And  gilded  tables,  with  glittering  stocks 
Of  gilded  china,  and  golden  clocks. 
Toy,  and  trinket,  and  musical  box. 

That  Peace  and  Paiis  have  firmished. 

And,  lo  !  with  the  brightest  gleam  of  all 
The  glowing  sunbeam  is  seen  to  fall 

On  an  object  as  rare  as  splendid  — 
The  golden  foot  of  the  Golden  Leg 
Of  the  countess  —  once  Miss  Kilmansegg  — 

Eut  there  all  simsliine  is  ended. 

Her  cheek  is  pale,  and  her  eye  Is  dim, 
And  downward  cast,  yet  not  at  the  limb. 
Once  the  centre  of  all  speculation  ; 

But  downward  di-ooping  in  comfort's  dearth. 
As  gloomy  thoughts  are  drawn  to  the  earth  — 
Whence  human  sorrows  derive  their  biith  — 

By  a  moral  gravitation. 

Her  golden  hair  is  out  of  its  braids, 
And  her  sighs  betray  the  gloomy  shades 
That  her  evil  planet  revolves  in  — 


AND    HEK   PRECIOUS    LEG.  253 

And  tears  are  falling  that  catch  a  gleam 
So  bright  as  they  drop  in  the  sunny  beam, 
That  tears  of  aqua  regia  they  seem, 
The  water  that  gold  dissolves  in ! 

Yet,  not  in  filial  grief  were  shed 

Those  tears  for  a  mother's  insanity ; 
Nor  yet  because  her  father  was  dead, 
For  the  bowing  Sir  Jacob  had  bowed  his  head 

To  Death  —  with  his  usual  urbanity  ; 
The  Avaters  that  down  her  visage  rilled 
Were  drops  of  unrectified  spirit  distilled 

From  the  limbec  of  Pride  and  Vanity. 

Tears  that  fell  alone  and  uncheckt, 

Without  reUef,  and  A\ithout  respect, 

Like  the  fabled  pearls  that  the  pigs  neglect, 

AVhen  pigs  have  that  opportunity  — 
And  of  all  the  griefs  that  mortals  share, 
The  one  that  seems  the  hardest  to  bear 

Is  the  grief  without  community. 

How  blessed  the  heart  that  has  a  friend 
A  sympathizing  ear  to  lend 

To  troubles  too  great  to  smother ! 
For  as  ale  and  porter,  when  flat,  are  restored 
Till  a  sparkling,  bubbling  head  they  afford, 
So  sorrow  is  cheered  by  being  poured 

From  one  vessel  into  another. 

But  friend  or  gossip  she  had  not  one 

To  hear  the  aiIc  deeds  that  the  count  had  done, 

How  night  after  night  he  rambled ; 
And  how  she  had  learned  by  sad  degrees 
That  he  drank,  and  smoked,  and,  worse  than  these. 

That  he  "  swindled,  intrigued,  and  gambled." 
22 


254  MISS   KILMA.NSEGG 

How  he  kissed  the  maids,  and  sparred  ynth.  John  ; 
And  came  to  bed  with  his  garments  on ; 

With  other  offences  as  heinous  — 
And  brought  strange  gentlemen  home  to  dine, 
That  he  said  were  in  the  Fancy  line, 
And  they  fancied  sphits  instead  of  wine, 

And  called  her  lap-dog  "  Wenus !  " 

Of  "  making  a  book  "  how  he  made  a  stir, 
But  never  had  written  a  Hne  to  her, 

Once  his  idol  and  Cara  Sposa  : 
And  how  he  had  stormed,  and  treated  her  ill, 
Because  she  refused  to  go  down  to  a  mill. 
She  didn't  know  where,  but  remembered  still 

That  the  miller's  name  was  Mendoza. 

How  often  he  waked  her  up  at  night, 
And  oftener  still  by  the  morning  light. 

Keeling  home  fi-om  his  haunts  unlawful ; 
Singing  songs  that  shouldn't  be  sung. 
Except  by  beggars  and  thieves  unhung  — 
Or  volleying  oaths,  that  a  foreign  tongue 

Made  still  more  horrid  and  awful ! 

How  oft,  instead  of  otto  of  rose, 

With  vulgar  smells  he  offended  her  nose. 

From  gin,  tobacco,  and  onion  ! 
And  then  how  wildly  he  used  to  stare ! 
And  shake  his  fist  at  nothing,  and  swear,  — 
And  pluck  by  the  handful  his  shaggy  hair, 
Till  he  looked  like  a  study  of  Giant  Despair 

For  a  new  edition  of  Bunyan  ! 

For  dice  -will  run  the  contrary  way, 
As  well  is  known  to  all  who  play. 

And  cards  will  conspire  as  in  treason : 
And  what  with  keeping  a  hunting-box, 


AND    HER    PRECIOUS    LEG.  25t5 

Following  fox  — 
Friends  in  flocks, 
Burgundies,  Hocks, 
From  London  Docks ; 
Stultz's  frocks, 
Manton  and  Nock's 
Barrels  and  locks. 
Shooting  blue  rocks, 
Trainers  and  jocks, 
Buskins  and  socks, 
Pugilistical  knocks. 
And  figliting-cocks. 
If  he  found  himself  short  in  funds  and  stocks, 
These  rhymes  will  furnish  the  reason ! 

His  friends,  indeed,  were  falHng  away  — 
Friends  who  insist  on  play  or  pay  — 
And  he  feared  at  no  very  distant  day 

To  be  cut  by  Lord  and  by  Cadger, 
As  one  who  was  gone  or  going  to  smash, 
For  his  checks  no  longer  drew  the  cash. 
Because,  as  his  comrades  explained  in  flash, 

"  He  had  overdrawn  his  badger." 

Gold!  gold  —  alas!  for  the  gold 
Spent  where  souls  are  bought  and  sold. 

In  Vice's  Walpurgis  revel ! 
Alas !  for  muffles,  and  bulldogs,  and  guns. 
The  leg  that  walks,  and  the  leg  that  runs, 
All  real  exUs,  though  Fancy  ones, 
When  they  lead  to  debt,  dishonor,  and  duns. 

Nay,  to  death,  and  perchance  the  Devil ! 

Alas  !  for  the  last  of  a  Golden  race  ! 
Had  she  cried  her  wrongs  in  the  market-place. 
She  had  warrant  for  all  her  clamor  — 


256 


MISS    KILMANSEGG 


For  the  worst  of  rogues,  and  brutes,  and  rakes, 
Was  breaking  her  heart  by  constant  aches, 
With  as  Httle  remorse  as  the  pauper  who  breaks 
A  flint  with  a  parish  hammer ! 

fcr   fast   mill 

Now  the  Precious  Leg,  while  cash  was  flush, 
Or  the  count's  acceptance  worth  a  rush, 

Had  never  excited  dissension  ; 
But  no  sooner  the  stocks  began  to  fell. 
Than,  without  any  ossification  at  all, 
The  limb  became  what  people  call 

A  perfect  bone  of  contention. 

For  altered  days  brought  altered  ways, 
And  instead  of  the  complimentary  phrase, 

So  current  before  her  bridal  — 
The  countess  heard,  in  language  low. 
That  her  Precious  Leg  was  precious  slow, 
A  good  'un  to  look  at,  but  bad  to  go, 

And  kept  quite  a  sum  lying  idle. 

That  instead  of  playing  musical  airs, 

Like  CoUn's  foot  in  going  up-stairs  — 

As  the  wife  in  the  Scottish  ballad  declares  — 

It  made  an  infernal  stumping. 
Whereas  a  member  of  cork,  or  wood, 
Would  be  Ughter  and  cheaper,  and  quite  as  good. 

Without  the  unbearable  thumping. 

Perhaps  she  thought  it  a  decent  thing 
To  show  her  calf  to  cobbler  and  king, 

But  nothing  could  be  absurder  — 
While  none  but  the  crazy  would  advertise 
Then-  gold  before  their  servants'  eyes, 


AND    HER    PRECIOUS    LEG.  257 

Who  of  course  some  night  would  make  it  a  prize, 
By  a  shocking  and  barbarous  murder. 

But  spite  of  hint,  and  threat,  and  scoff, 

The  Leg  kept  its  situation  : 
For  legs  are  not  to  be  taken  off 

By  a  verbal  amputation. 
And  mortals  when  they  take  a  whim. 
The  greater  the  folly  the  stiffeT  the  limb 

That  stands  upon  it  or  by  it  — 
So  the  countess,  then  Miss  Kilmansegg, 
At  her  mamage  refused  to  stu-  a  peg, 
Till  the  lawyers  had  fastened  on  her  leg. 

As  fast  as  the  law  could  tie  it. 

Firmly  then  —  and  more  firmly  yet  — 

With  scorn  for  scorn,  and  with  threat  for  threat. 

The  proud  one  confronted  the  cruel : 
And  loud  and  bitter  the  quaiTel  arose, 
Fierce  and  merciless  —  one  of  those, 
With  spoken  daggers,  and  looks  like  blows, 

In  all  but  the  bloodshed  a  duel ! 

Rash,  and  wild,  and  wretched,  and  wrong, 
Were  the  words  that  came  from  weak  and  strong, 

Till,  maddened  for  desperate  matters. 
Fierce  as  tigress  escaped  from  her  den. 
She  flew  to  her  desk  —  'twas  opened  —  and  then, 
In  the  time  it  takes  to  try  a  pen. 
Or  the  clerk  to  utter  his  slow  Amen, 

Her  Will  was  in  fifty  tatters  ! 

But  the  count,  instead  of  curses  wild. 
Only  nodded  his  head  and  smiled, 
As  if  at  the  spleen  of  an  angry  child ; 
22* 


258  ^"SS    KILMANSEGG 

But  the  calm  was  deceitful  and  sinister ! 
A  lull  like  the  lull  of  the  treacherous  sea  — 
For  Hate  in  that  moment  had  sworn  to  be 
The  Golden  Leg's  sole  Legatee, 

And  that  very  night  to  administer ! 

i«  §tvith. 

Tis  a  stem  and  startling  thing  to  think 
How  often  mortality  stands  on  the  brink 

Of  its  grave  without  any  misgiving  : 
And  yet,  in  this  slippery  world  of  strife, 
In  the  stir  of  human  bustle  so  rife 
There  are  daily  sounds  to  tell  us  that  Life 

Is  dying,  and  Death  is  living  ! 

Ay,  Beauty  the  girl,  and  Love  the  boy, 
Bright  as  they  are  with  hope  and  joy, 

How  their  souls  would  sadden  instanter. 
To  remember  that  one  of  those  wedding  bells, 
Which  ring  so  merrily  through  the  dells, 
Is  the  same  that  knells 
Our  last  farewells. 
Only  broken  into  a  canter ! 

But  breath  and  blood  set  doom  at  nought  — 
How  little  the  wretched  countess  thought. 

When  at  night  she  unloosed  her  sandal. 
That  the  Fates  had  woven  her  burial-cloth, 
And  that  Death,  in  the  shape  of  a  death's  head  moth, 

Was  fluttering  round  her  candle  ! 

As  she  looked  at  her  clock  of  or-molu, 

For  the  hours  she  had  gone  so  wearily  through 

At  the  end  of  a  day  of  trial  — 
How  little  she  saw  in  her  pride  of  prime 


AND    HER    PRECIOUS    LEG.  259 

The  dart  of  death  in  the  hand  of  Time  — 
That  hand  which  moved  on  the  dial ! 

As  she  Avent  vdth  her  taper  up  the  stair, 
How  little  her  swollen  eye  was  aware 

That  the  Shadow  which  followed  Avas  double ! 
Or  when  she  closed  her  chamber  door, 
It  was  shutting  out,  and  forevermore, 

The  world  —  and  its  worldly  trouble. 

Little  she  dreamt,  as  she  laid  aside 

Her  jewels  —  after  one  glance  of  pride  — 

They  were  solemn  bequests  to  Vanity  — 
Or  when  her  robes  she  began  to  doff, 
That  she  stood  so  near  to  the  putting  off 

Of  the  flesh  that  clothes  humanity. 

And  when  she  quenched  the  taper's  light. 
How  little  she  thought,  as  the  smoke  took  flight, 
That  her  day  was  done  —  and  merged  in  a  night 
Of  dreams  and  dm-ation  uncertain  — 
Or,  along  with  her  own, 
That  a  hand  of  bone 
Was  closing  mortality's  curtain  ! 

But  life  is  sweet,  and  mortality  blind. 
And  youth  is  hopeful,  and  Fate  is  kind 

In  concealing  the  day  of  sorrow  ; 
And  enough  is  the  present  tense  of  toil  — 
For  this  world  is,  to  all,  a  stiffish  soil  — 
And  the  mind  flics  back  with  a  glad  recoil 

From  the  debts  not  due  till  to-morrow. 

Wherefore  else  does  the  spirit  fly 
And  bid  its  daily  cares  good-by. 
Along  Mith  its  daily  clothing  ? 
Just  as  the  felon  condemned  to  die  — 


260 


MISS    KILMANSEGG 


With  a  very  natural  loathing  — 
Leaving  the  sheriff  to  dream  of  ropes, 
From  his  gloomy  cell  in  a  vision  elopes, 
To  caper  on  smmy  greens  and  slopes, 

Instead  of  the  dance  upon  nothing. 

Thus,  even  thus,  the  countess  slept, 
While  Death  still  nearer  and  nearer  crept, 

Like  the  Thane  who  smote  the  sleeping  — 
But  her  mind  was  busy  with  early  joys. 
Her  golden  treasures  and  golden  toys, 
That  flashed  a  bright 
And  golden  Hght 
Under  hds  still  red  with  weeping. 

The  golden  doll  that  she  used  to  hug! 
Her  coral  of  gold,  and  the  golden  mug ! 

Her  godfather's  golden  presents  ! 
The  golden  service  she  had  at  her  meals, 
The  golden  watch,  and  chain,  and  seals, 
Her  o-olden  scissors,  and  thread,  and  reels, 

And  her  golden  fishes  and  pheasants ! 

The  golden  guineas  in  silken  purse  — 

And  the  golden  legends  she  heard  from  her  nurse. 

Of  the  Mayor  in  his  gilded  carriage  — 
And  London  "streets  that  were  jjaved  with  gold  — 
And  the  golden  eggs  that  were  laid  of  old  — 
With  each  golden  thing 
To  the  golden  ring 
At  her  own  amiferous  marriage  ! 

And  still  the  golden  light  of  the  sun 
Through  her  golden  dream  appeared  to  run, 
Though  the  night  that  roared  without  was  one 
To  terrify  seamen  or  gypsies  — 


AND    HER    PRECIOUS    LEG.  261 

While  the  moon,  as  if  in  malicious  mirth, 
K.ei)t  peeping  down  at  the  ruffled  earth, 
As  though  she  enjoyed  the  tempest's  birth, 
In  revenge  of  her  old  eclipses. 

But  vainly,  vainly  the  thimder  fell, 

For  the  soul  of  the  sleeper  was  under  a  spell 

That  time  had  lately  embittered  — 
The  count,  as  once  at  her  foot  he  knelt  — 
That  foot  which  now  he  wanted  to  melt ! 
But  —  hush  !  —  'twas  a  stir  at  her  pillow  she  felt  — 

And  some  object  before  her  ghttered. 

'Twas  the  Golden  Leg !  —  she  knew  its  gleam  ! 
And  up  she  started,  and  tried  to  scream,  — 

But  even  in  the  moment  she  started  — 
Down  came  the  limb  with  a  frightful  smash, 
And,  lost  in  the  universal  flash 
That  her  eyeballs  made  at  so  mortal  a  crash, 

The  spark,  called  Vital,  departed ! 


Gold,  still  gold  !  hard,  yellow,  and  cold, 

For  gold  she  had  Hved,  and  she  died  for  gold  - 

By  a  golden  weapon  — not  oaken  ; 
In  the  morning  they  found  her  all  alone  — 
Stiff,  and  bloody,  and  cold  as  stone  — 
But  her  Leg,  the  Golden  Leg,  was  gone, 

And  the  "  golden  bowl  was  broken  ! " 

Gold  —  still  gold !  it  haunted  her  yet — 
At  the  Golden  Lion  the  inquest  met  — 

Its  foreman,  a  carver  and  gilder  — 
And  the  jury  deliated  from  twelve  till  three 
What  the  verdict  ought  to  be, 


2(52  A    MORNING    THOUGHT. 

And  they  brought  it  in  as  Felo-de-Se, 
"  Because  her  own  leg  had  killed  her  ! " 

fcr  11  oral 

Gold!  gold!  gold!  gold! 
Bright  and  yellow,  hard  and  cold, 
Molten,  graven,  hammered  and  rolled  ; 
Hea\7  to  get,  and  light  to  hold ; 
Hoarded,  bartered,  bought,  and  sold, 
Stolen,  borrowed,  squandered,  doled : 
Spurned  by  the  young,  but  hugged  by  the  old 
To  the  very  verge  of  the  church-yard  mould ; 
Price  of  many  a  crime  mitold : 
Gold!  gold!  gold!  gold! 
Good  or  bad  a  thousand-fold ! 

How  widely  its  agencies  vary  — 
To  save  —  to  ruin  —  to  curse  —  to  bless  — 
As  even  its  minted  coins  express. 
Now  stamped  with  the  image  of  good  Queen  Bess, 

And  now  of  a  Bloody  Mary. 


A  MORNING  THOUGHT. 

No  more,  no  more  will  I  resign 
My  couch  so  warm  and  soft, 

To  trouble  trout  mth  hook  and  line, 
That  will  not  spring  aloft. 

"With  larks  appointments  one  may  fix 
To  greet  the  dawning  skies, 

But  hang  the  getting  up  at  six 
For  fish  that  will  not  rise  ! 


LOVE    AND    LUNACY.  263 


L0\^  AND   LUNACY. 


The  Moon  — who  does  not  love  the  silver  moon, 
In  all  her  fantasies  and  all  her  phases  ? 

Whether  full-orbed  in  the  nocturnal  noon, 
Shining  in  all  the  dew-di-ops  on  the  daisies, 
To  hght  the  tripping  Fau-ies  in  their  mazes, 

While  stars  are  winking  at  the  pranks  of  Puck ; 
Or  huge  and  red,  as  on  brown  sheaves  she  gazes ; 

Or  new  and  thin  when  coin  is  tui-ned  for  luck ;  — 
AVho  will  not  say  that  Dian  is  a  Duck  ? 

But,  O  !  how  tender,  beautiful  and  sweet, 

When  m  her  silent  round,  serene,  and  clear, 
By  assignation  lo\ing  fancies  meet. 

To  recompense  the  pangs  of  absence  drear ! 

So  Ellen,  dreaming  of  Lorenzo,  dear, 
But  distant  from  the  city  mapped  by  Mogg, 

Still  saw  his  unage  in  that  sUver  sphere. 
Plain  as  the  Man  with  lantern,  bush,  and  dog, 
That  used  to  set  our  ancestors  a-gog. 

And  so  she  told  him  in  a  pretty  letter, 
That  came  to  hand  exactly  as  Saint  Meg's 

Was  stiiking  ten  —  eleven  had  been  better ; 
For  then  he  might  have  eaten  six  more  eggs. 
And  both  of  the  bedevilled  turkey-legs. 

With  relishes  from  East,  West,  North,  and  South, 
Draining,  beside,  the  teapot  to  the  dregs. 

Whereas  a  man  whose  heart  is  in  liis  mouth, 

Is  rather  spoilt  for  hunger  and  for  drouth. 

And  so  the  Iddneys,  broiling  hot,  were  wasted ; 
The  brawn  —  it  never  entered  in  liis  thought ; 


264 


LOVE    AND    LUNACY. 


The  o-rated  Pai-mesan  remained  imtasted  ; 

The  potted  shrimps  were  left  as  they  were  bought, 
The  capelings  stood  as  merely  good  for  nought, 

The  German  sausage  did  not  tempt  him  better, 
Whilst  Juno,  licking  her  poor  lips,  was  taught 

There's  neither  bone  nor  sldn  about  a  letter, 

Gristle,  nor  scalp,  that  one  can  give  a  setter. 

Heaven  bless  the  man  who  first  devised  a  mail ! 

Heaven  bless  that  pubhc  pile  which  stands  concealing 
The  Goldsmiths'  front  with  such  a  solid  veil ! 

Heaven  bless  the  Master,  and  Sir  Francis  Freeling, 

The  drags,  the  nags,  the  leading  or  the  wheeling, 
The  whips,  the  guards,  the  horns,  the  coats  of  scarlet, 

The  boxes,  bags,  those  evening  bells  a-pealing ! 
Heaven  bless,  in  short,  each  posting  thing,  and  varlet, 
That  helps  a  Werter  to  a  sigh  fi-om  Charlotte. 

So  felt  Lorenzo  as  he  oped  the  sheet. 

Where,  first,  the  darling  signature  he  kissed, 

And  then,  recurring  to  its  contents  sweet 
With  thirsty  eyes,  a  phrase  I  must  enlist. 
He  gulped  the  words,  to  hasten  to  their  gist; 

In  mortal  ecstasy  his  soul  was  bound  — 
When,  lo !  with  features  all  at  once  a-twist, 

He  gave  a  whistle,  -wild  enough  in  sound 

To  summon  Faustus's  Infernal  Hound ! 

Alas  !  what  little  miffs  and  tiffs  in  love, 

A  snubbish  word,  or  pouting  look  mistaken. 

Will  loosen  screws  with  sweethearts  hand  and  glove, 
O !  love,  rock  firm  when  chimney-pots  were  shaken, 
A  pettish  breath  will  into  huffs  awaken, 

To  spit  like  hump-backed  cats,  and  snarling  Towzers  ! 
Till  hearts  are  wrecked  and  foundered,  and  forsaken. 


LOVE    AND    LUNACY.  265 

As  ships  go  to  Old  Da^7,  Lord  knows  how,  sirs, 
While  heaven  is  blue  enough  for  Dutchmen's  trousers  ! 

"  The  moon's  at  full,  love,  and  I  think  of  you  "  — 

"Who  would  have  thought  that  such  a  kind  P.  S. 
Could  make  a  man  turn  white,  then  red,  then  blue, 

Then  black,  and  knit  his  eyebrows  and  compress 

His  teeth,  as  if  about  to  effervesce 
Like  certain  people  when  they  lose  at  whist ! 

So  looked  the  chafed  Lorenzo,  ne'ertheless. 
And,  in  a  trice,  the  paper  he  had  kissed 
Was  crumpled  like  a  snowball  in  his  fist ! 

Ah  !  had  he  been  less  versed  in  scientifics  — 
More  ignorant,  in  short,  of  what  is  what  — 

He  ne'er  had  flared  up  in  such  calorifics ; 
But  he  icould  seek  societies,  and  trot 
To  Clubs  —  Mechanics'  Institutes  —  and  got 

With  Bii'kbeck  —  Bartley  —  Combe  —  George  Robins 
—  Rennie, 
And  other  lecturing  men.     And  had  he  not 

That  work,  of  weekly  parts,  which  sells  so  many. 

The  Copper-bottomed  Magazine  —  or  "  Penny  ?  " 

But,  of  all  learned  \wo\s  whereon,  or  in. 

Men  dive  like  dabchicks,  or  like  swallows  skim, 
Some  hardly  damped,  some  wetted  to  the  skin. 

Some  di-owned  like  pigs  when  they  attempt  to  swim, 

Astronomy  was  most  Lorenzo's  whim, 
(Tis  studied  by  a  Prince  among  the  Burmans) ; 

He  loved  those  heavenly  bodies  wliich,  the  Hymn 
Of  Addison  declares,  preach  solemn  sermons. 
While  waltzmg  on  their  pivots  like  joung  Germans. 

Night  after  night,  with  telescope  in  hand. 
Supposing  that  the  night  was  fair  and  clear, 
23 


9Q6  LOVE    AND    LUNACY. 

Aloft,  on  the  house-top,  he  took  his  stand, 

Till  he  obtained  to  know  each  twinkling  sphere 
Better,  I  doubt,  than  Milton's  "  Starry  Vere ; " 

Thus,  reading  through  poor  Ellen's  fond  epistle. 
He  soon  espied  the  flaw —  the  lapse  so  sheer 

That  made  him  raise  his  hair  in  such  a  bristle, 

And  like  the  Boatswain  of  the  Storm-Ship,  wliistle. 

"  The  moon's  at  full,  love,  and  I  think  of  thee,"  — 

"  Indeed !  I'm  very  much  her  humble  debtor, 
But  not  the  moon-calf  she  would  have  me  be. 

Zounds!  does  she  fancy  that  I  know  no  better  ?" 

Herewith,  at  either  corner  of  the  letter 
He  gave  a  most  ferocious,  rending  pull ;  — 

"  O  woman !  woman !  that  no  vows  can  fetter, 
A  moon  to  stay  for  three  weeks  at  the  full ! 
By  Jove  !  a  very  pretty  cock-and-bull ! 

"  The  moon  at  fall !  'twas  very  finely  reckoned ! 

Why  so  she  wrote  me  word  upon  the  first. 
The  twelfth,  and  now  upon  the  twenty-second  — 

Pull !  —  yes  —  it  must  be  full  enough  to  burst ! 

But  let  her  go—  of  all  ^^le  jilts  the  worst"  — 
Here  with  his  thumbs  he  gave  contemptuous  snaps, 

Anon  he  blubbered  like  a  child  that's  nursed, 
And  then  he  hit  the  table  frightfid  raps, 
And  stamped  till  he  had  broken  both  his  straps. 

"  The  moon's  at  full  —  and  I  am  in  her  thought  — 

No  doubt :  I  do  believe  it  in  my  soul ! " 
Here  he  threw  up  his  head,  and  gave  a  snort 

Like  a  young  horse  first  harnessed  to  a  pole  ; 

"  The  moon  is  full  —  ay,  so  is  this  d — d  bowl !  " 
And,  grinning  like  the  sourest  of  curmudgeons, 

Globe  —  water  —  fishes  —  he  dashed  down  the  whole, 


LOVE   AXD    LUNACY.  267 

Strewing  the  carpet  with  the  gasping  gudgeons  ; 
Men  do  the  strangest  things  in  such  love-dudgeons. 

"  I  fill  her  thoughts  —  her  memory's  vicegerent  ? 

No,  no  —  some  paltry  puppy  —  thi-ee  weeks  old  — 
And  round  as  Norval's  shield  "  —  thus  incoherent 

His  fancies  grew  as  he  went  on  to  scold  ; 

So  stormy  waves  are  into  breakers  rolled, 
Worked  up  at  last  to  mere  chaotic  wroth  — 

This  —  that  —  heads  —  tails  —  thoughts  jumbled  un- 
controlled, 
As  onions,  turnips,  meat,  in  boihng  broth, 
By  turns  bob  up,  and  splutter  in  the  froth. 

"  Fool  that  I  was  to  let  a  baby  face  — 

A  fuU  one  —  like  a  hunter's  —  round  and  red  — 
Ass  that  I  am,  to  give  her  more  a  place 

"Within  this  heart  "  —  and  here  he  struck  his  head. 

"  'Sdeath  !  are  the  almanac-compilers  dead  .'' 
But  no  —  'tis  all  an  artifice  —  a  trick, 

Some  newer  face  —  some  dandy  underbred  — 
Well  —  be  it  so  —  of  all  the  sex  I'm  sick  !  " 
Here  Jimo  wondered  why  she  got  a  kick. 

"  '  The  moon  is  full '  —  whcre's  her  infernal  scrawl  ? 

'  And  you  are  in  my  thought :  that  silver  ray 
Will  over  your  dear  image  thus  recall '  — 

My  image  ?     Mine  !     She'd  barter  it  away 

For  Pretty  Poll's  on  an  ItaUan's  tray ! 
Three  weeks,  full  weeks  —  it  is  too  plain  —  too  bad  — 

Too  gross  and  palpalile  !     O  cm-sed  day ! 
My  senses  have  not  crazed  —  but  if  they  had  — 
Such  moons  would  worry  a  Mad  Doctor  mad ! 

"  O  Xature  !  wherefore  did  you  frame  a  lip 

So  feir  for  falsehood  ?    Wherefore  have  you  dressed 


2(58  LOVE    AND    LUNACY. 

Deceit  so  angel-like  ?  "     With  sudden  rip 
He  tore  six  new  buff  buttons  from  his  vest, 
And  groped  with  hand  impetuous  at  his  breast, 

As  if  some  flea  from  Juno's  fleecy  curls 
Had  skipped  to  batten  on  a  human  chest ; 

But  no  —  the  hand  comes  forth,  and  down  it  hurls 

A  lady's  miniature  beset  with  pearls. 

Yet  long  upon  the  floor  it  did  not  tarry, 
Before  another  outrage  could  be  planned  : 

Poor  Juno,  who  had  learned  to  fetch  and  carry, 
Picked  up  and  brought  it  to  her  master's  hand, 
Who  seized  it,  and  the  mimic  features  scanned ; 

Yet  not  with  the  old  lo^•ing  ardent  drouth, 
He  only  saw  in  that  fair  face,  so  bland, 

Look  how  he  would  at  it,  East,  West,  North,  South, 

A  moon,  a  full  one,  with  eyes,  nose,  and  mouth. 

"  I'll  20  to  her  :  "  —  herewith  his  hat  he  touched. 
And  gave  his  arm  a  most  heroic  brandish ; 

"  But  no  —  I'll  write  "  —  and  here  a  spoon  he  clutched, 
And  rammed  it  with  such  fury  in  the  standish, 
A  sable  flood,  like  Niger  the  outlandish, 

Came  rushing  forth.     O  Antics  and  Buffoons  ! 
Ye  never  danced  a  caper  so  ran-tan-dish  ; 

He  jumped,  thumped,  tore  —  swore  —  more  than  ten 
dragoons. 

At  all  nights,  noons,  moons,  spoons,  and  pantaloons 

But  soon  ashamed,  or  weary,  of  such  dancing. 
Without  a  CoUinet's  or  Weippert's  band, 

His  rampant  arms  and  legs  left  off'  their  prancing, 
And  down  he  sat  again,  with  pen  in  hand, 
Not  fiddle-headed,  or  King's  pattern  grand, 

But  one  of  Bramah's  patent  Caligraphics  ; 


LOVE    AXD    LrXACY.  2G9 

And  many  a  sheet  it  spoiled  before  he  planned 
A  likely  letter.     Used  to  pure  serapliics, 
PhiUppics  sounded  strangely  after  Sapphics. 

Long  while  he  rocked  like  Yankee  in  his  chair, 

Staring  as  he  would  stare  the  wainscot  tlrrough, 
And  ihen  he  thrust  his  fingers  in  his  hair, 

And  set  his  crest  up  like  a  cockatoo ; 

And  trampled  with  his  hoofs,  a  mere  Yahoo  : 
At  last,  with  many  a  tragic  frown  and  start, 

He  penned  a  billet,  very  far  from  doux, 
'Twas  sour,  severe  —  but  thinli  of  a  man's  smart 
Writing  with  lunar  caustic  on  his  heart ! 

The  letter  done  and  closed,  he  lit  his  taper, 
And  sealing,  as  it  were,  his  other  mocks, 

He  stamped  a  grave  device  upon  the  paper, 
Xo  Cupid  toying  with  liis  Psyche's  locks. 
But  some  stern  head  of  the  old  Stoic  stocks  — 

Then,  fiercely  striding  through  the  staring  streets. 
He  dropped  the  bitter  missive  in  a  box. 

Beneath  the  cakes,  and  tarts,  and  sugared  treats 

In  Mrs.  Smelling's  window-full  of  sweets. 

Soon  sped  the  letter  —  thanks  to  rhodern  plans, 
Our  English  mails  run  little  ui  the  style 

Of  those  great  German  wild-l^east  caravans, 

Eil-wagens  —  though  they  do  not  "  go  like  i/c"  — 
But  take  a*good  twelve  minutes  to  the  mile  — 

On  Monday  morning,  just  at  ten  o'clock, 

As  Ellen  hummed  "  The  Young  May  Moon  "  the  while, 

Her  ear  was  startled  by  that  double  knock 

Which  thrills  the  nerves  like  an  electric  shock  ! 

Her  right  hand  instantly  forgot  its  cunning, 
And  down  into  the  street  it  dropped,  or  flung, 
23* 


270  LOVE    AND    LUNACY. 

Right  on  the  hat  and  wig  of  Mr.  Gunning, 

The  jug  that  o'er  her  ten-weeks-stocks  had  hung  ; 
Then  down  the  stairs  by  twos  and  threes  she  sprung, 

And  through  the  passage  Uke  a  burglar  darted. 
Alas  !  how  sanguine  are  the  fond  and  young  — 

She  little  thought,  when  with  the  coin  she  parted, 

She  paid  a  sixpence  to  be  broken-hearted  ! 

Too  dear  at  any  price ;  had  she  but  paid 
Nothing,  and  taken  discount,  it  was  dear ; 

Yet,  worthless  as  it  was,  the  sweet-lipped  maid 
Oft  kissed  the  letter  in  her  brief  career 
Between  the  lower  and  the  upper  sphere, 

Where,  seated  in  a  study  bistre-browii. 
She  tried  to  jiierce  a  mystery  as  clear 

As  that  I  once  saw  puzzling  a  young  clown  — 

"  Reading  Made  Easy,"  but  turned  upside  down. 

Yet  Ellen,  lilie  most  misses  in  the  land, 

Had  sipped  sky  blue  through  certain  of  her  teens, 
At  one  of  those  establishments  which  stand 

In  highways,  byways,  squares,  and  village  greens  ; 

'Twas  called  "  The  Grove,"  a  name  that  always  means 
Two  poplars  stand  like  sentries  at  the  gate  — 

Each  window  had  its  close  Venetian  screens 
And  Holland  blind,  to  keep  in  a  cool  state 
The  twenty-four  Young  Ladies  of  Miss  Bate. 

But  when  the  screens  were  left  unclosed  by  chance, 

The  blinds  not  down,  as  if  Miss  B.  were  dead. 
Each  upper  window  to  a  passing  glance 

Revealed  a  httle  dimity  white  bed  ; 

Each  lower  one  a  cropped  or  curly  head  ; 
And  thrice  a  week,  for  soul's  and  health's  economies. 

Along  the  road  the  twenty-four  were  led, 


tOTE    AND    LUNACY.  271 

Like  coupled  hounds,  whipped  in  hy  two  she-dominies 
With  faces  rather  graver  than  :Melpoinene's. 

And  thus  their  studies  they  pursued  : — On  Sunday, 

Beef,  collects,  batter,  texts  from  Dr.  Price ; 
Mutton,  French,  pancakes,  grammar  —  of  a  Monday ; 

Tuesday  —  hard  dumplings,  globes,  Chapone's  Advice ; 

Wednesday  — fancy-work,  rice-milk  (no  since) ; 
Thursday  —  pork,  dancing,  currant-bolsters,  reading  ; 

Friday  —  beef,  Mr.  Butler,  and  plain  rice  : 
Saturday  —  scraps,  short  lessons  and  short  feeding, 
Stocks,  back-boards,  hash,  steel-collars,  and  good  breeding. 

From  this  repertory  of  female  learning 
Came  Ellen  once  a  quarter,  always  fatter  ! 

To  gi-atify  the  eyes  of  parents  yearning. 
'Twas  e\-ident  in  bolsters,  beef,  and  batter, 
Hard  dumplings,  and  rice-milk,  she  did  not  smatter, 

But  heartily,  as  Jenkins  says,  "  demoUidge  ; " 
But  as  for  any  learning,  not  to  flatter. 

As  often  happens  when  girls  leave  their  college, 

She  had  done  nothing  but  grow  out  of  knowledge. 

At  Long  Di^•ision  sums  she  had  no  chance, 

And  History  was  quite  as  l)ad  a  balk ; 
Her  French  it  was  too  small  for  Petty  France 

And  Priscian  suffered  in  her  English  talk : 

Her  drawing  might  be  done  with  cheese  or  chalk ; 
As  for  the  globes  —  the  use  of  the  terrestrial 

She  knew  when  she  went  out  to  take  a  walk, 
Or  take  a  ride  ;  but  touching  the  celestial. 
Her  knowledge  hardly  soared  above  the  bestial. 

Nothing  she  learned  of  Juno,  Pallas,  Mars ; 

Gcorgium,  for  what  she  knew,  might  stand  for  Burgo, 


272  LOVE    AND    LUNACY. 

Sidus,  for  Master  :  then,  for  northern  stars, 
The  Bear  she  fancied  did  in  sable  fur  go. 
The  Bull  was  Farmer  Giles's  bull,  and,  ergo, 

The  Ram  the  same  that  butted  at  her  brother  ; 
As  for  the  Twins,  she  only  guessed  that  Virgo 

From  coming  after  them,  must  be  their  mother ; 

The  Scales  weighed  soap,  tea,  figs,  like  any  other. 

As  ignorant  as  donkeys  in  Gallicia, 

She  thought  that  Saturn,  with  his  Belt,  was  but 
A  private,  may  be,  in  the  Kent  Militia : 

That  Charles's  Wain  would  stick  in  a  deep  rut, 

That  Venus  was  a  real  West  End  slut  — 
O,  gods  and  goddesses  of  Greek  Theogony ! 

That  Bernice's  Hair  would  curl  and  cut, 
That  Cassiopeia's  Chair  was  good  Mahogany, 
Nicely  French-polished —  such  was  her  cosmogony  ! 

Judge,  then,  how  puzzled  by  the  scientifics 

Lorenzo's  letter  came  now  to  dispense  ; 
A  lizard,  crawling  over  hieroglyphics, 

Knows  quite  as  much  of  their  Egyptian  sense  ; 

A  sort  of  London  fog,  opaque  and  dense, 
Hung  over  verbs,  nouns,  genitives,  and  datives. 

In  vain  she  pored  and  pored,  with  eyes  intense. 
As  well  is  known  to  oyster-operatives, 
Mere  looking  at  the  shells  won't  open  natives. 

Yet  mixed  with  the  hard  words,  so  called,  she  found 
Some  easy  ones  that  gave  her  heart  the  staggers ; 

Words  gi\ing  tongue  against  her,  like  a  hound 
At  picking  out  a  fault  —  words  speaking  daggers 
The  very  letters  seemed,  in  hostile  swaggers. 

To  lash  their  tails,  but  not  as  horses  do. 

Nor  like  the  tails  of  spaniels,  gentle  waggers, 


LOVE    AND    LUXACY.  273 

But  like  a  lion's,  ere  he  tcra-s  in  tv.o 

A  black,  to  see  if  he  is  black  all  through. 

With  open  mouth,  and  eyeballs  at  full  stretch, 
She  gazed  upon  the  paper  sad  and  sorry, 

No  sound  —  no  stu-  —  quite  petrified,  poor  \iTetch ! 
As  when  Apollo,  in  old  allegory, 
DoAvn-stooping  like  a  folcon,  made  his  quarry 

Of  Xiohe,  just  tm-ned  to  Purbeck  stone  ; 
In  fact,  since  Cupid  got  into  a  •worry, 

Jud:!;e  if  a  suing  lover,  let  alone 

A  lawyer,  ever  wrote  in  such  a  tone. 

"  Ellen,  I  will  no  longer  call  you  mine. 

That  time  is  past,  and  ne'er  can  come  again  ; 

However  other  lights  undimmed  may  shine, 
And  uncliminifthing,  one  truth  is  plain. 
Which  I,  akis  !  have  learned  —  that  love  can  wane. 

The  dream  has  passed  away,  the  veil  is  rent, 
Your  heart  was  not  intended  for  my  reign ; 

A  sphere  so  full,  I  feel,  was  never  meant 

With  one  jjoor  man  in  it  to  be  content. 

"  It  must,  no  doubt,  be  pleasant  beyond  measure, 
To  wander  underneath  the  whispering  bough 

With  Dian,  a  perpetual  round  of  pleasure. 
Nay,  fear  not  —  I  absolve  of  every  vow  — 
Use  —  use  your  own  celestial  pleasure  now, 

Your  apogee  and  perigee  arrange. 

Herschel  might  aptly  stare  and  wonder  how, 

To  me  that  constant  disk  has  nothuig  strange  — 

A  counterfeit  is  something  hard  to  change. 

"  O  Ellen  !  I  once  little  thought  to  Aviite 

Such  words  unto  you,  with  so  hard  a  pen ; 
Yet  outraged  love  will  change  its  nature  quite. 


27^  LOVE    AND   LUNACY. 

And  turn  like  tiger  hunted  to  its  den  — 
How  Falsehood  trips  in  her  deceits  on  men  ! 
And  stands  abashed,  discovered,  and  forlorn  ! 

Had  it  been  only  cusped  — but  gibbous  — then 
It  had  gone  down  —  but  Faith  di-ew  back  in  scorn, 
And  Avould  not  swallow  it  —  without  a  horn ! 

"  I  am  in  occultation  —  that  is  plain : 

My  culmination's  past  —  that's  quite  as  clear. 
But  think  not  I  will  suffer  your  disdain 

To  hang  a  lunar  rainbow  on  a  tear. 

Whate'er  my  pangs,  they  shall  be  buried  here  ; 
No  murmur  —  not  a  sigh  —  shall  thence  exhale  : 

Smile  on  —  and  for  your  o\ra  peculiar  sphere 
Choose  some  eccentric  path— you  cannot  fail, 
And  pray  stick  on  a  most  portentous  tail ! 

"  Farewell !  I  hope  you  are  in  health  and  gay  j 

For  me,  I  never  felt  so  well  and  merry  — 
As  for  the  bran-new  idol  of  the  day. 

Monkey  or  man,  I  am  indifferent  —  very  ! 

Nor  even  will  ask  who  is  the  Happy  Jerry ; 
My  jealousy  is  dead,  or  gone  to  sleep, 

But  let  me  hint  that  you  will  want  a  wheny, 
Three  weeks  spring-tide,  and  not  a  chance  of  neap, 
Your  parlors  will  be  flooded  six  feet  deep ! 

"  O  Ellen  !  how  delicious  was  that  light 

Wherein  our  phghted  shadows  used  to  blend. 
Meanwhile  the  melancholy  bird  of  night  — 

No  more  of  that  —  the  lover's  at  an  end. 

Yet  if  I  may  advise  you,  as  a  friend, 
Before  you  next  pen  sentiments  so  fond, 

Study  your  cycles  —  I  would  recommend 


LOVE    AND    LrXACY.  275 

Our  Airy  —  and  let  South  be  duly  conned, 
And  talve  a  dip,  I  beg,  in  the  great  Pond. 

"  Farewell  again  !  it  is  farewell  forever  ! 

Before  your  lamp  of  night  be  Ht  up  thrice, 
I  shall  be  sailing,  haply,  for  Swan  River, 

Jamaica,  or  the  Indian  land  of  rice. 

Or  Boothia  Felix  —  happy  clime  of  ice!* 
For  Trebizond,  or  distant  Scanderoon, 

Ceylon,  or  Java  redolent  of  spice, 
Or  settling,  neighbor  of  the  Cape  baboon, 
Or  roaming  o'er  —  The  Mountains  of  the  Moon ! 


"  What  matters  where  ?  my  world  no  longer  owns 

That  dear  meridian  spot  from  which  I  dated 
Degrees  of  distance,  hemispheres,  and  zones, 

A  globe  all  blank  and  barren  and  belated. 

What  matters  wlicre  my  future  life  lio  fated  ? 
With  Lapland  hordes,  or  Koords  or  Afric  peasant, 

A  squatter  in  the  western  woods  located. 
What  matters  where  ?     My  bias,  at  the  present. 
Leans  to  the  country  that  reveres  the  Crescent ! 

"  Farewell !  and  if  forever,  fare  thee  well ! 

As  wrote  another  of  my  fellow-martyrs  : 
I  ask  no  sexton  for  liis  passing-bell, 

I  do  not  ask  your  tear-drops  to  be  starters, 

However  I  may  che,  transfixed  by  Tartars, 
By  Cobras  poisoned,  by  Constrictors  strangled. 

By  shark  or  cayman  sna])t  above  the  garters. 
By  royal  tiger  or  Cape  Hon  mangled, 
Or  starved  to  death  in  the  wild  woods  entangled, 

"  Or  tortured  slowly  at  an  Indian  stake, 
Or  smothered  in  the  sandy  hot  simoom, 


276 


I.UVE    AX  I)    LUN'ACY. 


Or  crushed  In  Chili  by  earth's  awful  quake, 
Or  baked  in  lava,  a  Vesuvian  tomb, 
Or  dirged  by  syrens  and  the  billows'  boom, 

Or  stitiened  to  a  stock  'mid  A\[Aae  snows, 
Or  stricken  by  the  plague  with  sudden  doom, 

Or  sucked  by  Vampyres  to  a  last  repose. 

Or  self-destroyed,  impatient  of  my  woes. 

"  Still  fare  you  well,  however  I  may  fare, 

A  fare  perchaace  to  the  Lethean  shore, 
Caught  up  by  rushing  whirlwinds  in  the  air, 

Or  dashed  dov.n  caiaracts  with  dreadful  roar : 

Nay,  tlris  warm  heart,  once  yours  unto  the  core, 
This  hand  you  should  have  claimed  in  church  or  minster. 

Some  cannibal  may  gnaw"  — she  read  no  more  — 
Prone  on  the  carjiet  fell  the  senseless  spinster, 
Losing  herself,  as  'twere,  in  Ividderrainster  ! 

Of  course  of  such  a  fall  the  shock  was  great ; 

In  rushed  the  father,  panting  from  the  shop, 
In  rushed  the  mother,  without  cap  or  tete, 

Pursued  by  Betty  Housemaid  with  her  mop  ; 

The  cook  to  change  her  apron  did  not  stop, 
The  charwoman  next  scrambled  up  the  stair  — 

All  help  to  lift,  to  haul,  to  seat,  to  prop, 
And  then  they  stand  and  smother  round  the  chair. 
Exclaiming  in  a  chorus,  "  Give  her  air  !  " 

One  sears  her  nostrils  with  a  burning  feather. 

Another  rams  a  phial  up  her  nose  ; 
A  third  crooks  all  her  finger-joints  together, 

A  fourth  rips  up  her  laces  and  her  bows, 

AVhile  all  by  turns  keep  trampling  on  her  toes, 
And,  when  she  gasps  for  breath,  they  pom'  in  plump, 

A  sudden  drench  that  down  her  thorax  goes, 


LOVE    AND    LUNACY.  277 

As  if  in  fetching  her —  some  Avits  so  jump  — 
She  must  be  fetched  with  water  like  a  pump ! 

No  wonder  that  thus  drenched,  and  wrenched,  and  galled, 
As  soon  as  possible,  from  syncope's  fetter 

Her  senses  had  the  sense  to  be  recalled, 

"  I'm  better  —  that  will  do  —  indeed  I'm  better," 
She  cried  to  each  importimate  besetter ; 

Meanwliile  escaping  from  the  stir  and  smother, 
The  prudent  parent  seized  the  lover's  letter, 

(Daughters  should  have  no  secrets  with  a  Mother,) 

And  read  it  through  from  one  end  to  the  other 

From  first  to  last,  she  never  skipped  a  word  — 
For  young  Lorenzo  of  all  youths  was  one 

So  wise,  so  good,  so  moral  she  averred. 
So  clever,  quite  above  the  common  run  — 
She  made  him  sit  by  her,  and  called  him  son. 

No  matrimonial  suit,  e'en  Duke's  or  Earl's, 
So  flattered  her  maternal  feelings  —  none ! 

For  mothers  always  tliink  young  men  are  pearls 

Who  come  and  throw  themselves  before  their  girls. 

And  now,  at  warning  signal  from  her  finger, 
The  servants  most  reluctantly  withdrew. 

But  listening  on  the  stairs  contrived  to  linger ; 
For  Ellen,  gazing  round  with  eyes  of  blue, 
At  last  the  features  of  her  parent  knew, 

And  summoning  her  breath  and  vocal  powers, 
"  O,  mother  I  "  she  exclaimed  —  "  O.  is  it  tme  — 

Our  dear  Lorenzo  "  —  the  dear  name  drew  showers  — 

"  Ours"  cried  the  mother,  "  pray  don't  call  him  ours ! 

"  I  never  liked  him,  never,  in  my  days  ! " 

["  O  yes  —  you  did  "  —  said  Ellen  with  a  sob,] 
24 


278  ^O"^'^    ^^°    LUNACY. 

"There  always  was  a  something  in  his  ways  — 
["  So  sweet  —  so  kind,"  said  Ellen,  with  a  throb,] 
"  His  very  face  was  what  I  call  a  snob. 

And,  spite  of  West  End  coats  and  pantaloons, 
He  had  a  sort  of  air  of  the  swell  mob  ; 

I'm  sm-e  when  he  has  come  of  afternoons 

To  tea,  I've  often  thought  —  I'll  watch  my  spoons ! " 

"The  spoons!"  cried  Ellen,  almost  with  a  scream, 

"  O  cruel  —  false  as  cruel  —  and  unjust ! 
He  that  once  stood  so  high  in  your  esteem  !  " 

"  He  !  "  cried  the  dame,  grimacing  her  disgust, 

"  I  like  him  ?  —  yes  —  as  any  body  must 
An  infidel  that  scoff's  at  God  and  De\il : 

Didn't  he  bring  you  Bonaparty's  bust  ? 
Lord !  when  he  calls  I  hardly  can  be  ciAil  — 
My  favorite  was  always  Mr.  Neville. 

"  Lorenzo  ?  —  I  should  lil^e,  of  earthly  things. 

To  see  him  hanging  forty  cubits  high ; 
Doesn't  he  write  like  Captain  Rocks  and  Swings  ? 

Nay,  in  this  very  letter  bid  you  try 

To  make  yourself  particular,  and  tie 
A  tail  on  —  a  prodigious  tail !  —  O,  daughter ! 

And  don't  he  ask  you  down  his  area  —  fie  ! 
And  recommend  to  cut  your  being  shorter, 
With  brick-bats  round  your  neck  in  ponds  of  water  ?  " 

Alas !  to  think  how  readers  thus  may  vary 

A  writer's  sense  !  —  AVhat  mortal  would  have  thought 
Lorenzo's  hints  about  Professor  Airy 

And  Pond  to  such  a  IDveness  could  be  brought ! 

Who  would  have  di-eamcd  the  simple  way  he  taught 
To  make  a  comet  of  poor  Ellen's  moon. 

Could  furnish  forth  an  image  so  distraught, 


LOVE    AND    LUNACY.  279 

As  Ellen,  walking  Regent  Street  at  noon, 
Tailed  —  like  a  fat  Cape  sheep,  or  a  raccoon ! 

And  yet,  whate'er  absm-dity  the  brains 

May  hatch,  it  ne'er  wants  wet-nurses  to  suckle  it; 
Or  dry  ones,  like  a  hen,  to  take  the  pains 

To  lead  the  nudity  abroad,  and  chuckle  it; 

No  whim  so  stupid  but  some  fool  will  buckle  it 
To  jingle  bell-like  on  his  empty  head. 

No  mental  mud — but  some  will  knead  and  knuckle  it, 
And  fancy  they  are  making  fancy-bread  ;  — 
No  ass  has  written,  but  some  ass  has  read. 

No  dolts  could  lead  if  others  did  not  follow  'em. 

No  Hahnemann  could  give  deciliionth  drops 
If  any  man  could  not  be  got  to  swallow  'em ; 

But  folly  never  comes  to  such  full  stops. 

As  soon,  then,  as  the  Mother  made  such  swaps 
Of  all  Lorenzo's  meanings,  heads  and  tails, 

The  Father  seized  upon  her  malaprops  — 
"  My  girl  down  areas  —  of  a  night !     'Ods  nails  ! 

I'll  stick  the  scountU'el  on  his  area-rails  ! 

"  I  will !  —  as  sm-e  as  I  was  christened  John ! 

A  gu-1  —  well  born  —  and  bred  —  and    schooled  at 
Ditton  — 
Accomplished  — handsome  —  with  a  tail  stuck  on ! 

And  chucked  —  Zomids  !  chucked  in  horsejionds  like 
a  kitten ; 

I  wish  I  had  been  by  when  that  was  written  !  "  — 
And  doubUng  to  a  fist  each  ample  hand. 

The  empty  air  he  boxed  with,  a  la  Britton, 
As  if  in  training  for  a  fight  long  planned, 
With  Nobody  —  for  love  —  at  No  Man's  Land  ! 


280  LOVE    AND    LUNACY. 

•'  I'll  pond  —  I'll  tail  him  !  "     In  a  voice  of  thunder 

He  recommenced  his  fury  and  his  fus?, 
Loud,  open-mouthed,  and  wedded  to  his  llunder, 

Like  one  of  those  great  guns  that  end  in  buss. 

"  I'll  teach  him  to  write  ponds  and  tails  to  us !  " 
But  while  so  menacing  this-that-and-t'others, 

His  wife  broke  in  with  certain  truths,  as  thus : 
"  Men  are  not  women  —  fathers  can't  be  mothers  — 
Females  are  females  "  —  and  a  few  such  others. 

So  saying,  with  rough  nudges,  willy-nilly, 
She  hustled  him  outside  the  chamber-door, 

Looking,  it  must  be  owned,  a  little  silly  ; 
And  then  she  did  as  the  Carinthian  boor 
Serves  (Goldsmith  says)  the  traveller  that's  poor : 

Id  est,  she  shut  him  in  the  outer  space, 
With  just  as  much  apology  —  no  more  — 

As  Boreas  would  ])resent  in  such  a  case. 

For  slamming  the  street  door  right  m  your  face. 

And  now  the  secrets  of  the  sex  thus  kept, 

What  passed  in  that  important  tete-a-tete 
'Twixt  dam  and  daughter,  nobody  except 

Paul  Pry,  or  his  Twin  Brother,  could  narrate  — 

So  turn  we  to  Lorenzo,  left  of  late 
In  front  of  Mrs.  Snelling's  sugared  snacks, 

In  such  a  very  waspish  stinging  state  — 
But  now  at  the  Old  Dragon,  stretched  on  racks, 
Fretting,  and  biting  down  his  naUs  to  tacks ; 

Because  that  new  fast  foirr-inside  —  the  Comet, 
Instead  of  keeping  its  appointed  time. 

But  deviated  some  few  minutes  from  it, 
A  thing  with  all  astronomers  a  crime. 
And  he  had  studied  in  that  lore  sublime ; 


LOVE    AND    LUNACY.  281 

Nor  did  his  heat  get  any  less  or  shorter 

For  pouring  upon  passion's  unslacked  lime 
A  Ave|l-grown  glass  of  Cogniac  and  water, 
Mixed  stiff  as  starch  by  the  Old  Dragon's  daughter. 

At  length,  "  Fan-  Ellen  "  sounding  with  a  flourish, 
The  Comet  came  all  bright,  bran  new,  and  smai't: 

Meanwhile  the  melodj^  conspired  to  nourish 
The  hasty  spirit  in  Lorenzo's  heart, 
And  soon  upon  the  roof  he  "  topped  his  part," 

Which  never  had  a  more  impatient  man  on. 
Wishing  devoutly  that  the  steeds  would  start 

Lilce  lightning  greased  —  or,  as  at  Ballyshannon 

Sublimed,  "  greased  lightning  shot  out  of  a  camion  1 " 

For,  ever  since  the  letter  left  his  hand, 
His  mind  had  been  in  vascillating  motion, 

Dodge-dodging  lilie  a  flustered  crab  on  land, 
That  cannot  ask  its  way,  and  has  no  notion 
If  right  or  left  leads  to  the  German  Ocean  — 

Hatred  and  Love  by  turns  enjoyed  monopolies, 
Till,  like  a  Doctor  following  his  own  potion. 

Before  a  learned  pig  could  spell  Acropolis, 

He  went  and  booked  himself  for  oui*  metropolis. 

"  O,  for  a  horse,"  or  rather  four  —  "  with  wings  ! " 

For  so  he  put  his  wish  into  the  plural  — 
No  relish  he  retained  for  country  tilings, 

He  could  not  join  felicity  with  rural, 

His  thoughts  were  all  ■with  London  and  the  mural, 
Where    architects  —  not   paupers  —  heap   and   ji'iZe 
stones  : 

Or  with  the  horses'  muscles,  called  the  crural, 
How  fast  they  could  macadamize  the  milestones 
Which  passed  as  tediously  as  gall  or  bile  stones. 
24* 


282  X^OVE    AND    LUNACY. 

BKnd  to  the  picturesque,  he  ne'er  perceived 

In  Natui-e  one  artistical  fine  strolve ; 
For  instance,  how  that  purple  hill  relieved 

The  beggar-woman  in  the  g-ypisy-poke, 

And  how  the  red  cow  carried  off  her  cloak ; 
Or  how  the  aged  horse,  so  gaunt  and  gray, 

Threw  ofF»a  noble  mass  of  beech  and  oak ! 
Or  how  the  tinker's  ass,  beside  the  way. 
Came  boldly  out  from  a  white  cloud  —  to  bray !  , 

Such  things  have  no  delight  for  worried  men, 
That  travel  full  of  care  and  anxious  smart : 

Coachmen  and  horses  are  your  artists  then ; 
Just  try  a  team  of  di-aughtsmen  with  the  Dart, 
Take  Shee,  for  instance,  Etty,  Jones,  and  Hart, 

Let  every  neck  be  put  into  its  noose, 

Then  tip  'em  on  the  flank  to  make  'em  start, 

And  see  how  they  will  draw  !  —  Four  screws  let  loose 

Would  malie  a  difference  —  or  I'm  a  goose  — 

Nor  cared  he  more  about  the  promised  crops. 

If  oats  were  looking  up,  or  wheat  was  laid, 
For  flies  in  tm-nips,  or  a  blight  in  hops, 

Or  how  the  barley  prospered  or  decayed ; 

In  short,  no  items  of  the  farming  trade. 
Peas,  beans,  tares,  'taters,  could  his  mind  beguile ; 

Nor  did  he  answer  to  the  servant-maid, 
That  always  asked  at  every  other  mile, 
"  Where  do  we  change,  sir  ?"  with  her  sweetest  smile. 

Nor  more  he  listened  to  the  Politician, 
Who  lectured  on  his  left,  a  formal  prig. 

Of  Belgium's,  Greece's,  Turkey's  sad  condition, 
Not  worth  a  cheese,  an  olive,  or  a  fig ; 
Nor  yet  unto  the  critic,  fierce  and  big, 


LOVE    AXD    LUNACY.  283 

Who,  holding  forth,  all  lonely,  in  his  glory, 

Called  one  a  sad  bad  Poet  — and  a  Whig, 
And  one,  a  first-rate  proser  —  and  a  Tory  ; 
So  critics  judge,  now,  of  a  song  or  story. 

Nay,  when  the  coachman  spoke  about  the  'Leger, 
Of  Popsy,  Mopsy,  Bergamotte,  and  Civet, 

Of  breeder,  trainer,  owner,  backer,  hedger. 
And  nags  as  right,  or  righter  than  a  trivet. 
The  theme  his  cracked  attention  could  not  rivet ; 

Though  leaning  forward  to  the  man  of  whips, 
He  seemed  to  give  an  ear  —  but  did  not  give  it, 

For  Ellen's  moon  (that  saddest  of  her  slips) 

Would  not  be  hidden  by  a  "  new  Eclipse." 

If  any  thought  e'er  flitted  in  his  head 

Belonging  to  the  sphere  of  Bland  and  Crocky, 

It  was  to  wish  the  team  all  thorough-bred, 
And  every  buckle  on  their  backs  a  jockey  : 
When  spinning  down  a  steep  descent,  or  rocky, 

He  never  watched  the  wheel,  and  longed  to  lock  it, 
He  liked  the  bolters  that  set  ofi"  so  cockj-, 

Nor  did  it  shake  a  single  nerve  or  shock  it. 

Because  the  Comet  raced  against  the  Rocket. 

Thanks  to  which  rivalry,  at  last  the  journey 

Finished  an  hour  and  a  quarter  under  time,      . 

Without  a  case  for  surgeon  or  attorney, 
Just  as  St.  James's  rang  its  seventh  chime. 

And  now,  descending  from  his  seat  sublime, 
Behold  Lorenzo,  weariest  of  wights. 
In  that  great  core  of  brick,  and  stone,  and  lime, 

Called  England's  Heart  —  but  which,  as  seen  of  nights, 

Has  rather  more  the  appearance  of  its  lights. 


284  LOVE    AND    LUNACY. 

A-way  he  Kciidded  —  elbowing,  perforce, 

Through  cads,  and  lads,  and  many  a  Hebrew  worrier. 
With  fruit,  knives,  pencils  —  all  dirt  cheap,  of  course. 

Coachmen,  and  hawkers,  of  the  Globe  and  "  Cm-rier ;  " 

Away !  the  cookmaid  is  not  such  a  skurrier, 
When,  fit  to  spHt  her  gingham  as  she  goes. 

With  six  just  strilving  on  the  clock  to  hurry  her, 
She  strides  along  with  one  of  her  three  beaux. 
To  get  well  placed  at  "  Ashley's  "  —  now  Ducrow's, 

"  I  wonder  if  the  moon  is  full  to-night !  " 

He  muttered,  jealous  as  a  Spanish  Don, 
When,  lo  !  to  aggravate  that  inward  spite, 

In  glancing  at  a  boai'd  he  spied  thereon 

A  play-bill  for  dramatic  follvs  to  con, 
In  letters  such  as  those  may  read,  who  run, 

"  '  KING  JOHN '  —  O  yes  —  I  recollect  King  John ! 
'  My  Lord,  they  say  five  moons  '  — Jive  moons  !  well  done  ! 
I  wonder  Ellen  was  content  with  one  ! 

"  Five  moons  —  all  full !  and  all  at  once  in  heaven ! 

She  should  have  lived  in  that  prohfic  reign  ! " 
Here  he  arrived  in  front  of  number  seven. 

The  abode  of  all  his  joy  and  all  his  pain ; 

A  sudden  tremor  shot  through  every  vein, 
He  wished  he'd  come  up  by  the  heavy  Avagon, 

And  felt  an  impulse  to  turn  back  again, 
O,  that  he  ne'er  had  quitted  the  Old  Dragon ! 
Then  came  a  sort  of  longing  for  a  flagon. 

His  tongue  and  palate  seemed  so  parched  with  drouth  — 
The  very  knocker  filled  his  soul  with  dread, 

As  if  it  had  a  hving  lion's  mouth. 

With  teeth  so  terrible,  and  tongue  so  red, 
In  which  he  had  engaged  to  put  his  head. 


LOVE    AND    LUNACY.  285 

The  bell-pull  turned  his  courage  into  vapor, 

As  though  'twould  cause  a  shower-bath  to  shed 
Its  thousand  shocks,  to  make  him  sigh  and  caper  — 
He  looked  askance,  and  did  not  lilie  the  scraper. 

"What  business  have  I  here  ?  (he  thought)  a  dunce 
A  hopeless  passion  thus  to  fan  and  foster, 

Instead  of  putting  out  its  wick  at  once  : 

She's  gone  —  it's  very  exident  I've  lost  her  — 

And  to  the  wanton  wind  I  should  have  tossed  her  — 

Pish !  I  will  leave  her  with  her  moon,  at  ease. 
To  toast  and  eat  it,  like  a  single  Gloster, 

Or  cram  some  fool  with  it,  as  good  green  cheese, 

Or  make  a  honey-moon,  if  so  she  please. 

«  Yes  —  here  I  leave  her  ;  "  and  as  thus  he  spoke, 

He  plied  the  knocker  with  such  needless  force, 
It  almost  spht  the  pannel  of  sound  oak  ; 

And  then  he  went  as  wildly  through  a  course 

Of  ringing,  till  he  made  abrupt  divorce 
Between  the  bell  and  its  dumbfounded  handle  ; 

While  up  ran  Betty,  out  of  breath  and  hoarse. 
And  thrust  into  his  face  her  blown-out  candle. 
To  recognize  the  author  of  such  scandal. 

Who,  presto  !  cloak,  and  carpet-bag  to  boot. 

Went  stumbling,  rumbling,  up  the  dark  one  pair, 

With  other  noise  than  his  whose  "  very  foot 
Had  music  in't  as  he  came  up  the  stair : " 
And  then  with  no  more  manners  than  a  bear, 

His  hat  upon  his  head,  no  matter  how. 
No  modest  tap  his  presence  to  declare. 

He  bolted  in  a  room,  without  a  bow, 

And  there  sat  Ellen,  with  a  marble  brow ! 


286  LOVE    AND    LUNACY. 

Like  fond  Medora,  watching  at  her  window, 
Yet  not  of  any  Corsair  bark  in  search  — 

The  jutting  lodging-house  of  Mrs.  Lindo, 

"  The  Cheapest  House  in  Town  "  of  Todd  and  Sturch, 
The  private  house  of  Reverend  Doctor  Birch, 

The  public-house,  closed  nightly  at  eleven, 

And  then  that  house  of  prayer,  the  parish  church, 

Some  roofs  and  chimneys,  and  a  glimpse  of  heaven, 

Made  up  the  whole  look-out  of  Number  Seven. 

Yet  something  in  the  prospect  so  absorbed  her, 

She  seemed  quite  drowned  and  dozing  in  a  dream ; 

As  if  her  own  beloved  full  moon  still  orbed  her, 
Lulling  her  fancy  in  some  lunar  scheme. 
With  lost  Lorenzo,  may  be,  for  its  theme  — 

Yet  when  Lorenzo  touched  her  on  the  shoulder, 
She  started  up  with  an  abortive  scream. 

As  if  some  midnight  ghost,  from  regions  colder, 

Had  come  x^dthin  his  bony  arms  to  fold  her. 

"  Lorenzo  !  " —  "  Ellen  !  " —  then    came    "  Sir  !  "    and 
"  Madam ! " 

They  tried  to  speak,  but  hammered  at  each  word, 
As  if  it  were  a  flint  for  great  MacAdam  ; 

Such  broken  English  never  else  was  heard,  * 

Eor  like  an  aspen  leaf  each  nerve  was  stu'red, 
A  chilly  tremor  thrilled  them  through  and  through, 

Their  efforts  to  be  stiff  were  quite  absurd, 
They  shook  like  jellies  made  without  a  due 

And  proper  share  of  common  joiner's  glue. 

"  Ellen  !  I'm  come  —  to  bid  you  —  fare  —  farewell ;  " 
They  thus  began  to  fight  their  verbal  duel ; 

"  Since   some   more    hap  —  hap  —  happy    man    must 
dwell  —  " 
"  Alas  —  Loren  —  Lorenzo  !  —  cru  —  cru  —  cruel !  " 


rOTE    AXD    T.i;.VACY.  287 

For  so  they  split  their  wotds  like  grits  for  gruel. 
At  last  the  Lover,  as  he  long  had  planned, 

Drew  out  that  once  inestimable  jewel, 
Her  portrait,  which  was  erst  so  fondly  scanned. 
And  thrust  poor  Ellen's  face  into  her  hand. 

"  There  —  take  it,  Madam  —  take  it  back,  I  crave, 
The  face  of  one  —  but  I  must  now  forget  her ; 

Bestow  it  on  whatever  hapless  slave 

Your  art  has  last  enticed  into  your  fetter  — 
And  there  are  your  epistles  —  there  !  each  letter ! 

I  ^dsh  no  record  of  your  vows'  infractions ; 

Send  them  to  South — or  Children — you  had  better  — 

They  will  be  novelties  —  rare  benefactions 

To  shine  in  Pliilosojjhical  Transactions  ! 

"  Take  them  —  pray  take  them  —  I  resign  tliem  quite  ! 

And  there's  the  glove  you  gave  me  leave  to  steal  — 
And  there's  the  handkerchief,  so  pure  and  white, 

Once  sanctified  by  tears,  when  Miss  O'Neill  — 

But  no  —  you  did  not  —  cannot  —  do  not  feel 
A  JuUet's  faith,  that  time  could  only  harden  ! 

Fool  that  I  was,  in  my  mistaken  zeal ! 
I  should  have  led  you  —  by  your  leave  and  pardon  — 
To  Bartley's  Orrery,  not  Covent  Garden  ! 

"  And  here's  the  bu-th-day  ring  —  nor  man  nor  devil 
Should  once  liave  torn  it  from  my  Hung  hand ; 

Perchance  'twill  look  as  Avell  on  Mr.  Ne^ille  ; 
And  that  —  and  that  is  all  —  and  now  I  stand 
Absolved  of  each  dissevered  tie  and  band  — 

And  so  farewell,  till  Time's  eternal  sickle 
Shall  reap  our  lives  ;  in  this,  or  foreign  land 

Some  other  may  be  found  for  truth  to  stickle, 

Almost  as  fair,  and  not  so  false  and  fickle ! " 


288  LOVE    AND    LUNACY. 

And  there  he  ceased,  as  truly  it  was  time ; 

For  of  the  various  themes  that  left  his  mouth, 
One  half  surpassed  her  intellectual  climb  : 

She  knew  no  more  than  the  old  Hill  of  Howth 

About  that  "  Children  of  a  larger  growth," 
Who  notes  proceedings  of  the  F.  R.  S.'s ; 

Kit  North  was  just  as  strange  to  her  as  South, 
Except  the  South  the  weathercock  expresses ; 
Nay,  Hartley's  Orrery  defied  her  guesses. 

Howbeit  some  notion  of  his  jealous  drift 
She  gathered  from  the  simple  outward  fact 

That  her  own  lap  contained  each  slighted  gift ; 
Though  quite  unconscious  of  his  cause  to  act 
So  like  Othello,  with  his  face  unblacked  ; 

"  Alas !  "  she  sobbed,  "  your  cruel  course  I  see 
These  faded  charms  no  longer  can  attract ; 

Your  fancy  palls,  and  j'ou  would  wander  free, 

And  lay  your  own  apostasy  on  me  ! 

"  I  false  !  —  unjust  Lorenzo  !  —  and  to  you  ! 

O,  all  ye  holy  gospels  that  incline 
The  soul  to  truth,  bear  witness  I  am  true  ! 

By  all  that  lives,  of  earthly  or  divine  — 

So  long  as  this  poor  throbbing  heart  is  mine  — 
I  false  !  —  the  world  shall  change  its  course  as  soon ! 

True  as  the  streamlet  to  the  stars  that  shine  — 
True  as  the  dial  to  the  sun  at  noon. 
True  as  the  tide  to  '  yonder  blessed  moon ' ! " 

And  as  she  spoke,  she  pointed  through  the  window, 
Somewhere  above  the  houses'  distant  tops, 

Betwixt  the  chimney-pots  of  Mrs.  Lindo, 
And  Todd  and  Stm-ch's  cheapest  of  all  shops 
For  ribbons,  laces,  muslins,  silks,  and  fops ;  — 


MORNING    MEDITATIONS.  289 

Meanwhile,  as  she  upraised  her  face  so  Grecian, 

And  eyes  suffused  with  scintillating  di'ops, 
Lorenzo  looked,  too,  o'er  the  blinds  Venetian, 
To*  see  the  sphere  so  troubled  with  repletion. 

"  The  Moon  !  "  he  cried,  and  an  electric  spasm 
Seemed  all  at  once  his  features  to  distort, 

And  fixed  his  mouth,  a  dumb  and  gaping  chasm  — 
His  faculties  benumbed  and  all  amort  — 
At  last  his  voice  came,  of  most  shrilly  sort, 

Just  like  a  sea-gull's  wheeling  round  a  rock  — 

"  Speak  !  —  Ellen  !  —  is  your  sight  indeed  so  short ! 

The  Moon  !  —  Brute  !  savage  that  I  am,  and  block  ! 

The  Moon  !     (O,  ye  Romantics,  what  a  shock  !) 

Why,  that's  the  new  Illuminated  Clock !  " 


MORNING   MEDITATIONS. 

Let  Taylor  preach,  upon  a  morning  breezy, 
How  well  to  rise  while  nights  and  larks  are  flying ; 
For  my  part,  getting  up  seems  not  so  easy 
By  half  as  lying. 

"VA''hat  if  the  lark  does  carol  in  the  sky. 
Soaring  beyond  the  sight  to  find  him  out  — 
Wherefore  am  I  to  rise  at  such  a  fly  ? 
I'm  not  a  trout. 

Talk  not  to  me  of  bees  and  such-like  hums. 
The  smell  of  SAveet  herbs  at  the  morning  prime; 
Only  lie  long  enough,  and  bed  becomes 
A  bed  of  time. 
25 


290  MOENING    MEDITATIONS. 

To  me  Dan  Phoebus  and  his  car  are  nought, 
His  steeds  that  paw  impatiently  about ; 
Let  them  enjoy,  say  I,  as  horses  ought, 
The  first  turn-out ! 

Right  beautiful  the  dewy  meads  appear, 
Besprinkled  by  the  rosy-fingered  girl ; 
What  then,  —  if  I  prefer  my  pillow-beer 
To  early  pearl  ? 

My  stomach  is  not  ruled  by  other  men's, 
And,  grumbling  for  a  reason,  quaintly  begs 
Wherefore  should  master  rise  before  the  hens 
Have  laid  their  eggs  ? 

Why  from  a  comfortable  pillow  start 
To  see  faint  flushes  in  the  east  awaken  ?  . 
A  fig,  say  I,  for  any  streaky  part. 
Excepting  bacon. 

An  early  riser  Mr.  Gray  has  dra-wn, 
Who  used  to  haste  the  deAvy  grass  among, 
"  To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn,"  — 
Well  —  he  died  yoimg. 

With  charwomen  such  early  hours  agree, 
And  sweeps  that  earn  betimes  their  bit  and  sup; 
But  I'm  no  climbing  boy,  and  need  not  be 
All  up  —  all  up  ! 

So  here  I  lie,  my  morning  calls  deferring. 
Till  something  nearer  to  the  stroke  of  noon  ;  — 
A  man  that's  fond  precociously  of  stirring, 
Must  be  a  spoon. 


A   TALE    OF    A    TRUMPET.  291 


A  TALE  OF   A  TRUMPET. 

"  Old  woman,  old  woman,  will  j'ou  go  arshearing? 
Speak  a  little  louder,  for  I'm  very  hard  of  hearing." 

Old  Ballad. 

Of  all  old  women  hard  of  hearing, 

The  deafest,  sm-e,  was  Dame  Eleanor  Spearing  ! 

On  her  head,  it  is  true, 

Two  flaps  there  grew. 
That  served  for  a  pair  of  gold  rings  to  go  through ; 
But  for  any  purpose  of  cars  in  a  parley, 
They  heard  no  more  than  ears  of  barley. 

No  hint  was  needed  from  D.  E.  F. 

You  saw  in  her  face  that  the  woman  was  deaf : 

From  her  twisted  mouth  to  her  eyes  so  peery, 

Each  queer  feature  asked  a  query ; 

A  look  that  said,  in  a  silent  Avay, 

"  Who  ?  and  ^'N^hat  ?  and  How  ?  and  Eh  ? 

I'd  give  my  ears  to  know  what  you  say ! " 

And  well  she  might !  for  each  auricular 

Was  deaf  as  a  post  —  and  that  post  in  particular 

That  stands  at  the  corner  of  Dyott-street  now, 

And  never  hears  a  word  of  a  row ! 

Ears  that  might  serve  her  now  and  then 

As  extempore  racks  for  an  idle  ]jen ; 

Or  to  hang  with  hoops  from  jewellers'  shops, 

With  coral,  ruby,  or  garnet  drops ; 

Or,  provided  the  owner  so  inchncd. 

Ears  to  stick  a  bUstcr  behind  ; 

But  as  for  hearing  ^risdom  or  Avit, 

Falsehood,  or  follv,  or  tell-tale-tit. 


292  ^    TALE    OF   A    TRUMPET. 

Or  politics,  whether  of  Fox  or  Pitt, 

Sermon,  lecture,  or  musical  bit, 

Harp,  piano,  fiddle,  or  kit, 

They  might  as  well,  for  any  such  wish. 

Have  been  buttered,  done  brown,  and  laid  in  a  dish ! 

She  was  deaf  as  a  post,  —  as  said  before,  — 

And  as  deaf  as  twenty  similes  more, 

InclucUng  the  adder,  that  deafest  of  snakes, 

Which  never  hears  the  coil  it  makes. 

She  was  deaf  as  a  house  —  which  modem  tricks 
Of  language  would  call  as  deaf  as  bricks  — 
For  her  all  human  kind  were  dumb ; 
Her  drum,  indeed,  was  so  muffled  a  drum, 
That  none  could  get  a  sound  to  come. 
Unless  the  Devil  who  had  Two  Sticks ! 
She  was  deaf  as  a  stone  —  say  one  of  the  stones 
Demosthenes  sucked  to  improve  his  tones  ; 
And  surely  deafness  no  further  could  reach 
Than  to  be  in  his  mouth  withcut  hearing  his  speech! 
She  was  deaf  as  a  nut  —  for  nuts,  no  doubt. 
Are  deaf  to  the  grub  that's  hollowing  out  — 
As  deaf,  alas  !  as  the  dead  and  forgotten  — 
(Gray  has  noticed  the  waste  of  breath 
In  addressing  the  "  dull,  cold  ear  of  death,") 
Or  the  Felon's  ear,  that  was  stuffed  with  Cotton  — 
Or  Charles  the  Fu-st,  in  statue  quo ; 
Or  the  still-born  figures  of  Madame  Tussaud, 
"With  their  eyes  of  glass,  and  their  hair  of  flax, 
That  only  stare,  whatever  you  "  ax," 
For  their  ears,  you  know,  are  nothing  but  wax. 

She  was  deaf  as  the  ducks  that  swam  in  the  pond, 
And  wouldn't  Usten  to  Mrs.  Bond,  — 


A    TALE    OF   A    TRUMPET.  293 

As  deaf  as  any  Frenchman  appears, 

When  he  puts  his  shoulders  into  his  ears : 

And  —  whatever  the  citizen  tells  his  son  — 

As  deaf  as  Gog  and  Magog  at  one  ! 

Or,  still  to  be  a  simile-seeker, 

As  deaf  as  dog's-ears  to  Enfield's  Speaker ! 

She  was  deaf  as  any  tradesman's  dummy, 
Or  as  Pharaoh's  mother's  mother's  mummy  ; 
Whose  organs,  for  fear  of  our  modern  scejjtics, 
Were  plugged  with  gums  and  antiseptics. 

She  was  deaf  as  a  nail  —  that  you  cannot  hammer 
A  meaning  into,  for  all  your  clamor  — 
There  never  was  such  a  deaf  old  Gammer ! 

So  formed  to  worry 

Both  Lindley  and  MuiTay, 
By  having  no  ear  for  music  or  gi-ammar  ! 

Deaf  to  sounds,  as  a  ship  out  of  soundings, 
Deaf  to  verbs,  and  all  their  compoundings, 
Adjective,  noun,  and  adverb,  and  pai;ticle, 
Deaf  to  even  the  definite  article  — 
No  verbal  message  was  worth  a  pin, 
Though  you  hhed  an  earwig  to  carry  it  in ! 

In  short,  she  was  twice  as  deaf  as  Deaf  Burke, 

Or  all  the  deafness  in  Yearsley's  Work, 

Who,  in  spite  of  his  skill  in  hardness  of  healing, 
Boring,  blasting,  and  pioneering, 
To  give  the  dunny  organ  a  clearing, 

Could  never  have  cured  Dame  Eleanor  Spearing. 

Of  course  the  loss  was  a  great  privation, 
For  one  of  her  sex  —  whatever  her  station  — 
And  none  the  less  that  the  dame  had  a  turn 
25* 


294  A    TALE    OF   A    TRUMPET. 

For  making  all  families  one  concern, 

And  learning  whatever  there  was  to  Icam 

In  the  prattling,  tattling  ^-illage  of  Tringham  — 

As  who  wore  silli  ?  and  who  wore  gingham  ? 

And  what  the  Atkins's  shop  might  bring  'em  ? 

How  the  Smiths  contrived  to  live  ?  and  whether 

The  fourteen  Murphys  all  pigged  together  ? 

The  wages  per  week  of  the  Weavers  and  Skimiers, 

And  what  they  boiled  for  their  Sunday  dinners  ? 

What  plates  the  Bugsbys  had  on  the  shelf, 

Crockery,  china,  wooden,  or  delf  ? 

And  if  the  parlor  of  Mrs.  O'Grady 

Had  a  wicked  French  print,  or  Death  and  the  Lady  ? 

Did  Snip  and  his  wife  continue  to  jangle  ? 

Had  ^Irs.  Wilkinson  sold  her  mangle  ? 

What  liquor  was  drunk  by  Jones  and  Brown  ? 

And  the  weekly  score  they  ran  up  at  the  Crown  ? 

If  the  cobbler  could  read,  and  believed  in  the  Pope  ? 

And  how  the  Grubbs  were  off  for  soap  P 

If  the  Snobbs  had  fmnished  their  room  up  stairs, 

And  how  they  managed  for  tables  and  chairs, 

Beds,  and  other  household  affairs, 

L-on,  wooden,  and  Staffordshire  wares ; 

And  if  they  could  muster  a  whole  pair  of  bellows  ? 
In  fact  she  had  much  of  the  sphit  that  lies 
Perdu  in  a  notable  set  of  Paul  Prys, 

By  courtesy  called  Statistical  Fellows  — 
A  prj-ing,  spying,  inquisitive  clan, 
Who  had  gone  upon  much  of  the  self-same  plan, 

Jotting  the  laboring  class's  riches  ; 
And  after  poking  in  pot  and  pan. 

And  routing  garments  in  want  of  stitches, 
Have  ascertained  that  a  working  man 

Wears  a  pair  and  a  quai'ter  of  average  breeches ! 


A    TALE    OF    A    TRUMPET.  295 

But  tHs,  alas  !  from  her  loss  of  hearing 

Was  all  a  sealed  book  to  Dame  Eleanor  Spearing ; 
And  often  her  tears  would  rise  to  theu-  founts  — 

Supposing  a  little  scandal  at  play 

'Twrxt  Mrs.  O'Fie  and  jNIrs.  Au  Fait  — 

That  she  couldn't  audit  the  gossips'  accounts. 

'Tis  true,  to  her  cottage  still  they  came, 

And  ate  her  muffins  just  the  same, 

And  drank  the  tea  of  the  widowed  dame, 
And  never  swallowed  a  thimble  the  less 
Of  something  the  reader  is  left  to  guess, 
For  aU  the  deafiiess  of  Mrs.  S., 

Who  sate  them  talk,  and  chuckle,  and  cough. 
But  to  see  and  not  share  in  the  social  itow, 
She  might  as  well  have  lived,  you  know. 
In  one  of  the  houses  in  Owen's  Row, 

Near  the  New  River  Head,  with  its  water  cut  off ! 

And  yet  the  almond-oil  she  had  tried, 

And  fifty  infallible  tilings  beside. 

Hot,  and  cold,  and  tliick,  and  tliin. 

Dabbed,  and  diibbled,  and  squu-ted  in : 
But  all  remedies  failed ;  and  though  some  it  was  clear 

(Like  the  brandy  and  salt 

We  now  exalt) 
Had  made  a  noise  in  the  public  ear. 
She  was  just  as  deaf  as  ever,  poor  dear. 

At  last  —  one  verj'  fine  day  m  Jmie  — 

Suppose  her  sitting. 

Busily  knitting, 
And  humming  she  didn't  qiute  know  what  tune, 
For  nothing  she  heard  but  a  sort  of  a  whizz, 
Which,  unless  the  sound  of  a  cu'culation. 
Or  of  thoughts  in  the  process  of  fabrication, 


296  A.    TALE    or    A    TRUMPET. 

By  a  spinning-jennyish  operation, 

It's  hard  to  say  what  buzzing  it  is. 
However,  except  that  ghost  of  a  sound. 
She  sat  in  a  silence  most  profound  — 
The  cat  was  purring  about  the  mat, 
But  her  mistress  heard  no  more  of  that 
Than  if  it  had  been  a  boatswain's  cat ; 
And  as  for  the  clock  the  moments  nicldng, 
The  dame  only  gave  it  credit  for  ticking. 
The  bark  of  her  dog  she  did  not  catch  ; 
Nor  yet  the  click  of  the  hfted  latch  ; 
Nor  yet  the  creak  of  the  opening  door  ; 
Nor  yet  the  fall  of  the  foot  on  the  floor  — 
But  she  saw  the  shadow  that  crept  on  her  gown. 
And  turned  its  sliirt  of  a  darker  brown. 

And,  lo  !  a  man  !  a  pedler  ?  ay,  marry. 

With  a  little  back-sho])  that  such  tradesmen  carry. 

Stocked  with  brooches,  ribbons,  and  rings, 

Spectiicles,  razors,  and  other  odd  things, 

For  lad  and  lass,  as  Autolycus  sings ; 

A  chajjman  for  goodness  and  cheapness  of  ware 

Held  a  fair  dealer  enough  at  a  fair, 

But  deemed  a  piratical  sort  of  invader 

By  him  we  dub  the  *'  regular  trader," 

Who,  luring  the  passengers  in  as  they  pass 

By  lamps,  gay  panels,  and  mouldings  of  brass. 

And  windows  with  only  one  huge  pane  of  glass. 

And  his  name  in  gilt  characters,  German  or  Homan, 

If-  he  isn't  a  pedler,  at  least  is  a  showman ! 

However,  in  the  stranger  came. 

And,  the  moment  he  met  the  eyes  of  the  dame. 

Threw  her  as  knowing  a  nod  as  though 

He  had  known  her  fifty  long  years  ago  j 


A    TALE    OF    A    TRUMPET.  297 

And,  presto !  before  she  could  utter  "  Jack  "  — 
Much  less  "  Robinson  "  —  opened  his  pack  — 

And  then  from  amongst  his  portable  gear, 
With  even  more  than  a  pedler's  tact,  — 
(Slick  himself  might  have  envied  the  act)  - 
Before  she  had  time  to  be  deaf,  m  fact. 

Popped  a  ti-umpet  mto  her  ear. 

"  There,  ma'am !  try  it ! 

You  needn't  buy  it  — 
The  last  new  patent  —  and  nothing  comes  nigh  it 
For  affording  the  deaf,  at  little  expense. 
The  sense  of  hearing,  and  hearing  of  sense  ! 
A  real  blessing  —  and  no  mistake, 
Invented  for  poor  humanity's  sake  ; 
For  what  can  be  a  greater  privation 
Than  playing  dummy  to  all  creation, 
And  only  looking  at  conversation  — 
Great  philosophers  talking  lilic  Platos, 
And  members  of  ParHament  moral  as  Catos, 
And  your  ears  as  dull  as  waxy  potatoes ! 
Not  to  name  the  mischievous  quizzers, 
Sharp  as  knives,  but  double  as  scissors, 
Who  get  you  to  answer  quite  by  guess 
Yes  for  no,  and  no  for  yes." 
("  That's  very  true,"  says  Dame  Eleanor  S.) 

"  Try  it  again  !     No  harm  in  trying  — 

I'm  sure  you'll  find  it  worth  yoiu*  buying, 

A  little  practice  —  that  is  all  — 

And  you'll  hear  a  whisper,  however  small, 

Through  an  Act  of  Parliament  party  wall,  — 

Every  syllable  clear  as  day. 

And  even  what  people  are  going  to  say  — 


298  A   TALE    OF  A   TRUMPET. 

I  wouldn't  tell  a  lie,  I  wouldn't, 

But  my  trumpets  have  heard  what  Solomon's  couldia't ; 
And  as  for  Scott,  he  promises  fine, 
But  can  he  warrant  his  horns,  like  mine. 

Never  to  hear  what  a  lady  shouldn't  ?  — 
Only  a  guinea —  and  can't  take  less." 
("  That's  very  dear,"  says  Dame  Eleanor  S.) 

"  Dear !  —  O  dear,  to  call  it  dear ! 
Why  it  isn't  a  horn  you  buy,  but  an  ear  ; 
Only  tliink,  and  you'll  find  on  reflection 
You're  bargaining,  ma'am,  for  the  Voice  of  Affection  ; 
For  the  language  of  Wisdom,  and  Virtue,  and  Truth, 
And  the  sweet  little  innocent  prattle  of  youth ; 
Not  to  mention  the  striking  of  clocks  — 
Cackle  of  hens  —  crowing  of  cocks  — 
Lowing  of  cow,  and  bull,  and  ox  — 
Bleating  of  pretty  pastoral  flocks  — 
Murmur  of  waterfall  over  the  rocks  — 
Every  sound  that  Echo  mocks  — 
Vocals,  fiddles,  and  musical-box  — 
And,  zounds !  to  call  such  a  concert  dear ! 
But  I  mustn't  swear  with  my  horn  in  your  ear. 
Why,  in  bujing  that  trumpet  you  buy  all  those 
That  Harper,  or  any  trumpeter,  blows 
At  the  Queen's  levees,  or  the  Lord  Mayor's  shows, 
At  least  as  far  as  the  music  goes, 
Including  the  wonderful  lively  somid 
Of  the  Guards'  key-bugles  all  the  year  round. 
Come  —  suppose  we  call  it  a  pound ! 
Come,"  said  the  talkative  man  of  the  pack, 
"  Before  I  put  my  box  on  my  back. 
For  tliis  elegant,  useful  conductor  of  sound, 
Come  —  suppose  we  call  it  a  poimd ! 


A    TALE    OF    A    TKUMPET.  299 

"  Only  a  pound !  it's  only  the  price 
Of  hearing  a  concert  once  or  twice, 

It's  only  the  fee 

You  might  give  Mr.  C, 
And  after  all  not  hear  his  ad^ice, 
But  common  prudence  would  bid  you  stump  it ; 

For,  not  to  enlarge, 

It's  the  regular  charge 
At  a  fancy  fair  for  a  penny  trumpet. 
Lord  !  what's  a  pomid  to  the  blessing  of  hearing !  " 
("  A  pound's  a  pound,"  said  Dame  Eleanor  Speaiing.) 

"  Try  it  again !  no  harm  in  trjing ! 

A  pound's  a  pound,  there's  no  deming ; 

But  tlimk  what  thousands  and  thousands  of  pounds 

We  pay  for  nothing  but  hearing  sounds  ; 

Somids  of  equity,  justice,  and  law, 

-Parliamentaiy  jabber  and  jaw. 

Pious  cant  and  moral  saw. 

Hocus-pocus,  and  Nong-tong-paw, 

And  empty  somids  not  worth  a  straw  ; 

Why,  it  costs  a  guinea,  as  I'm  a  sinner, 

To  hear  the  sounds  at  a  pubHc  dumer ; 

One-pound-one  thrown  into  the  puddle, 

To  Usten  to  fiddle,  faddle  and  fuddle ! 

Not  to  forget  the  sounds  we  buy 

From  those  who  sell  then-  somids  so  high, 

That,  unless  the  managers  pitch  it  strong. 

To  get  a  signora  to  warble  a  song 

You  must  fork  out  the  blunt  with  a  haymaker's  prong. 

"  It's  not  the  thing  for  me  —  I  know  it  — 
To  crack  my  own  trumpet  up  and  blow  itj 
But  it  is  the  best,  and  time  will  show  it. 


300  A    TALE    OF    A    TRUMPET. 

There  was  Mrs.  F. 

So  very  deaf, 
That  she  might  have  worn  a  percussion-cap, 
And  been  knocked  on  the  head  without  hearing  it  snap. 
Well,  I  sold  her  a  horn,  and  the  very  next  day 
She  heard  from  her  husband  at  Botany  Bay ! 
Come  —  eighteen  shillings  —  that's  very  low. 
You'll  save  the  money  as  shillings  go,  — 
And  I  never  knew  so  bad  a  lot,  — 
By  hearing  whether  they  ring  or  not ! 
Eighteen  shillings !  it's  worth  the  price. 
Supposing  you're  delicate-minded  and  nice. 
To  have  the  medical  man  of  your  choice. 
Instead  of  the  one  with  the  strongest  voice  — 
"Who  comes  and  asks  you  how's  your  liver, 
And  where  you  ache,  and  whether  you  shiver, 
And  as  to  your  nerves  so  apt  to  quiver, 
As  if  he  was  hailing  a  boat  on  the  river ! 
And  then,  -with  a  shout,  like  Pat  in  a  riot, 
Tells  you  to  keep  yourself  perfectly  quiet ! 

"  Or  a  tradesman  comes  —  as  tradesmen  will  — 
Short  and  crusty  about  liis  bill. 

Of  patience,  indeed,  a  perfect  scorner. 
And  because  you're  deaf  and  imable  to  pay, 
Shouts  whatever  he  has  to  say, 
In  a  vulgar  voice,  that  goes  over  the  way, 

Do\vn  the  street  and  round  the  corner ! 
Come  —  speak  your  mind  —  it's  '  No  or  Yes.'  " 
("  I've  half  a  mind,"  said  Dame  Eleanor  S.) 

"  Try  it  again  —  no  harm  in  trying ; 

Of  course  you  hear  me,  as  easy  as  Ijing ; 

No  pain  at  all,  like  a  surgical  trick. 

To  make  you  squall,  and  struggle,  and  kick. 


A    TALE    OF    A    TRUMPET.  301 

Like  Juno,  or  Rose, 

Whose  ear  undergoes 
Such  horrid  tugs  at  membrane  and  gristle, 
For  being  as  deaf  as  yourself  to  a  whistle ! 

"  You  may  go  to  surgical  chaps,  if  you  choose, 
"Who  Mill  blow  up  your  tubes  like  copper  flues, 
Or  cut  your  tonsils  right  away, 
As  you'd  shell  out  youi-  almonds  for  Christmas-day  ; 
And  after  all  a  matter  of  doubt, 
Whether  you  ever  would  hear  the  shout 
Of  the  little  blackguards  that  bawl  about, 
'  There  you  go  with  your  tonsils  out  I ' 
Why,  I  knew  a  deaf  Welshman  who  came  from  Gla- 
morgan 

On  purpose  to  try  a  surgical  spell, 

And  paid  a  guinea,  and  might  as  well 
Have  called  a  monkey  into  his  organ  ! 
For  the  Amrist  only  took  a  mug. 
And  poured  in  his  ear  some  acoustical  drug. 
That,  instead  of  curing,  deafened  him  rather, 
As  Hamlet's  uncle  served  Hamlet's  father  ! 
That's  the  way  with  your  surgical  gentry ! 
And  happy  your  luck 
If  you  don't  get  stuck 
Through  your  liver  and  lights  at  a  royal  entry, 
Because  you  never  answered  the  sentry ! 

"  Try  it  again,  dear  madam,  try  it ! 
Many  would  sell  their  beds  to  buy  it. 
I  warrant  you  often  wake  up  in  the  night. 
Ready  to  shake  to  a  jelly  with  fright, 
And  up  you  must  get  to  strike  a  light, 
And  down  you  go  in  you  know  not  what, 
Whether  the  weather  is  chilly  or  not, — 
26    • 


302  •*■    TALE    OP    A    TKUMPET. 

That's  the  way  a  cold  is  got,  — 
To  see  if  you  heard  a  noise  or  not ! 

"  Why,  bless  you,  a  woman  with  organs  like  yours 
Is  hardly  safe  to  step  out  of  doors  ! 
Just  fancy  a  horse  that  comes  full  pelt, 
But  as  quiet  as  if  he  was  '  shod  with  felt,' 
Till  he  rushes  against  you  with  all  his  force, 
And  then  I  needn't  describe,  of  course. 
While  he  lacks  you  about  without  remorse. 
How  awkv.ard  it  is  to  be  groomed  by  a  horse  ! 
Or  a  bullock  comes,  as  mad  as  King  Lear, 
And  you  never  dream  that  the  brute  is  near, 
Till  he  pokes  his  horn  right  into  your  ear. 
Whether  you  like  the  thing  or  lump  it,  — 
And  all  for  want  of  buying  a  trumpet ! 

» I'm  not  a  female  to  fret  and  vex, 
But  if  I  belonged  to  the  sensitive  sex. 
Exposed  to  all  sorts  of  indelicate  sounds, 
I  wouldn't  be  deaf  for  a  thousand  pounds. 

Lord !  only  think  of  chucking  a  copper 
To  Jack  or  Bob  with  a  timber  limb, 
Who  looks  as  if  he  was  singing  a  hymn, 

Instead  of  a  song  that's  very  improper ! 
Or  just  suppose  in  a  public  place 
You  see  a  great  fellow  a-pulling  a  face. 
With  his  staring  eyes  and  his  mouth  like  an  O,  — 
And  how  is  a  poor  deaf  lady  to  know  — 
The  lower  orders  are  u]i  to  such  games  — 
If  he's  calling  *  Green  Peas,'  or  calling  her  names  ?  " 
("  They're  tenpence  a  peck  !  "  said  the  deafest  of  dames.) 

"  'Tis  strange  what  very  strong  advising. 
By  word  of  mouth  or  advertising. 


A    TALE    OF    A    TRUMPET.  303 

By  challving  on  walls,  or  placarding  on  vans, 

With  fifty  other  diti'erent  plans, 

The  very  high  pressiu-e,  in  fact,  of  pressing, 

It  needs  to  persuade  one  to  purchase  a  blessing  ! 

Whether  the  Soothmg  American  S}-rup, 

A  Safety  Hat  or  a  Safety  StiiTup,  — 

InfaUible  Pills  for  the  human  frame, 

Or  Rowland's  0-don't-o  (an  ominous  name  !) 

A  Doudney's  suit  which  the  shape  so  hits 

That  it  beats  all  others  into  jits ; 

A  Mechi's  razor  for  beards  unshorn. 

Or  a  Ghost-of-a-Whisper-Catching  Horn ! 

"  Try  it  again,  ma'am,  only  try  ! " 

Was  still  the  voluble  pedler's  cry  ; 

"  It's  a  great  privation,  there's  no  dispute, 

To  live  like  the  dumb  unsociable  brute, 

And  to  hear  no  more  of  the  pro  and  con, 

And  how  society's  going  on, 

Than  Mumbo  Jumbo  or  Prester  John, 

And  all  for  want  of  tliis  sine  qua  non ; 

Whereas,  with  a  horn  that  never  offends. 
You  may  join  the  genleelest  party  that  is, 
And  enjoy  aU  the  scandal,  and  gossij),  and  quiz, 

And  be  certain  to  liear  of  yoiu-  absent  friends  ;  — 
Not  that  elegant  ladies,  in  fact. 
In  genteel  society  ever  detract. 
Or  lend  a  brush  when  a  friend  is  blacked, 
At  least  as  a  mere  malicious  act,  — 
But  only  talk  scandal  for  fear  some  fool 
Should  think  they  were  bred  at  eJiarity  school. 

Or,  maybe,  you  like  a  little  flirtation, 
AVliich  even  the  most  Don  Juanish  rake 
Would  surely  object  to  undertake 

At  the  same  high  pitch  as  an  altercation. 


304  •*■    TALE    OF    A    TKUMPET. 

It's  not  for  mc,  of  course,  to  judge 

How  much  a  deaf  lady  ought  to  begrudge  ; 

But  half-a-guinea  seems  no  great  matter  — 

Letting  alone  more  rational  patter  — 

Only  to  hear  a  parrot  chatter ; 

Not  to  mention  that  feathered  -wit, 

The  starling,  who  speaks  when  his  tongue  is  slit ; 

The  pies  and  jays  that  utter  words, 

And  other  Dicky  Gossips  of  birds, 

That  talk  -snth  as  much  good  sense  and  decorum 

As  many  Beaks  who  belong  to  the  quorum. 

"  Try  it  —  buy  it  —  say  ten-and-six, 

The  lowest  price  a  miser  could  fix  : 

I  don't  pretend  with  horns  of  mine, 

Like  some  in  the  advertising  Une, 

To  '  magnify  sounds '  on  such  marvellous  scales. 

That  the  sounds  of  a  cod  seem  as  big  as  a  whale's  ; 

But  popular  rumors,  right  or  wrong,  — 

Charity  sermons,  short  or  long,  — 

Lecture,  speech,  concerto,  or  song, 

All  noises  and  voices,  feeble  or  strong. 

From  the  hum  of  a  gnat  to  the  clash  of  a  gong. 

This  tube  will  deliver,  distinct  and  clear ; 

Or  supposing  by  chance 

You  wish  to  dance, 
Why,  it's  putting  a  Horn-pipe  into  your  ear  ! 

Try  it  —  buy  it ! 

Buy  it  —  try  it! 
The  last  new  patent,  and  nothing  comes  nigh  it. 

For  guiding  sounds  to  proper  txmnel : 
Only  try  till  the  end  of  June, 
And  if  you  and  the  trumpet  are  out  of  tune, 
I'll  turn  it  gratis  into  a  funnel !  " 


A    TALE    OF    A    TRUMPET.  305 

In  short,  the  pedler  so  beset  her, — 

Lord  Bacon  couldn't  have  gammoned  her  better,  — 

With  flatteries  pkimj)  and  indirect. 

And  plied  his  tongue  with  such  efiect,  — 

A  tongue  that  could  almost  have  buttered  a  crumpet,  — 

The  deaf  old  woman  bought  the  trumpet. 

♦  «»»** 

The  pedler  was  gone.     With  the  horn's  assistance, 
She  heard  his  steps  die  away  in  the  distance ; 
And  then  she  heard  the  tick  of  the  clock, 
The  purring  of  puss,  and  the  snoring  of  Shock ! 
And  she  purposely  dropt  a  pin  that  was  httle, 
And  heard  it  fall  as  plain  as  a  skittle ! 

'Twas  a  wonderful  horn,  to  be  but  just! 
Nor  meant  to  gather  dust,  must,  and  rust : 
So  in  half  a  jiffy,  or  less  than  that, 
In  her  scarlet  cloak  and  her  steeple  hat. 
Like  old  Dame  Trot,  but  without  her  Cat, 
The  gossip  was  hunting  all  Tringham  thorough, 
As  if  she  meant  to  canvass  the  borough. 

Trumpet  in  hand,  or  up  to  the  ca\ity  :  — 
And,  sure,  had  the  horn  been  one  of  those 
The  wild  rhinoceros  wears  on  his  nose 

It  couldn't  have  ripped  up  more  depravity ! 

Depravity  !  mercy  shield  her  ears  ! 
'Twas  plain  enough  that  her  village  peers 

In  the  ways  of  \-ice  were  no  raw  beginners  ; 
For  whenever  she  raised  the  tube  to  her  drum, 
Such  sounds  were  transmitted  as  only  come 

From  the  very  brass  band  of  human  sinners ! 

Ribald  jest  and  blasphemous  curse, 
(Bunyaa  never  vented  worse,) 
26* 


306  •*■   TALE    OF  A    TRUMPET. 

With  all  those  weeds,  not  flowers,  of  speech 

Which  the  seven  Dialecticians  teach  ; 

Filthy  conjunctions,  and  dissolute  nouns, 

And  particles  picked  from  the  kennels  of  towns, 

With  irregular  verbs  for  irregular  jobs, 

Chiefly  active  in  rows  and  mobs, 

Picking  possessive  pronouns'  fobs,      ^ 

And  interjections  as  bad  as  a  blight, 

Or  an  Eastern  blast,  to  the  blood  and  the  sight ; 

Fanciful  phrases  for  crime  and  sin. 

And  smacking  of  vulgar  lips  where  gin. 

Garlic,  tobacco,  and  ofi'als  go  in  — 

A  jargon  so  truly  adapted,  in  fact, 

To  each  thievish,  obscene,  and  ferocious  act. 

So  fit  for  the  brute  with  the  human  shape, 

Savage  baboon,  or  libidinous  ape, 

From  their  ugly  mouths  it  will  certainly  come 

Should  they  ever  get  weary  of  shamming  dumb  ! 

Alas !  for  the  voice  of  Virtue  and  Truth, 
And  the  sweet  little  innocent  prattle  of  youth ! 
The  smallest  urchin  whose  'tongue  could  tang 
Shocked  the  dame  with  a  volley  of  slang, 
Fit  for  Fagin's  juvenile  gang  ; 
While  the  charity  chap, 
With  his  muffin  cap, 

His  crimson  coat  and  his  badge  so  garish. 
Placing  at  dumps,  or  pitch  in  the  hole, 
Cm-sed  his  eyes,  limbs,  body,  and  soul, 

As  if  they  didn't  belong  to  the  parish  ! 
Twas  awful  to  hear,  as  she  went  along, 
The  wicked  words  of  the  popular  song ; 

Or  supposing  she  listened  —  as  gossips  will  — 
At  a  door  ajar,  or  a  window  agape, 
To  catch  the  sounds  they  allowed  to  escape,, 


A   TALE    OF    A    TRUMPET,  307 

Those  sounds  belonged  to  Depravity  still ! 
The  dark  allusion,  or  bolder  brag 
Of  the  dexterous  "  dodge,"  and  the  lots  of  "  swag," 
The  plundered  house  —  or  the  stolen  nag  — 
The  blazing  rick,  or  the  darker  crime 
That  quenched  the  spark  before  its  time  — 
The  wanton  speech  of  the  wife  immoral  — 
The  noise  of  drunken  or  deadl\'  quarrel,  — 
With  savage  menaces,  Avhich  tlrreatened  the  life, 
Till  the  heart  seemed  merely  a  strop  "  for  the  loiife  ; " 
The  human  liver,  no  better  than  that 
Which  is  sliced  and  thrown  to  an  old  woman's  cat ; 

And  the  head,  so  useful  for  shaking  and  nodding, 
To  be  punched  into  holes,  like  a  "  shocldng  bad  hat " 

That  is  only  fit  to  be  punched  into  wadding ! 

In  short,  wherever  she  tm-ned  the  horn. 
To  the  highly  bred  or  the  lowly  born. 
The  working  man  who  looked  over  the  hedge, 
Or  the  mother  nursing  her  infant  pledge, 

The  sober  Quaker,  averse  to  quarrels. 
Or  the  governess  pacing  the  \'illage  through, 
With  her  twelve  young  ladies,  two  and  two, 
Looking,  as  such  young  ladies  do. 

Trussed  by  Decorum  and  stuffed  A\'ith  morals  — 
Whether  she  listened  to  Hob  or  Bob, 
Nob  or  Snob, 
The  Squire  on  his  cob. 
Or  Trudge  and  his  ass  at  a  tinkei'ing  job, 
To  the  saint  who  expounded  at  "  Little  Zion  "  — 
Or  the  "  sinner  who  kept  the  Golden  Lion  "  — 
The  man  tcetotally  weaned  from  liquor  — 
The  beadl^  the  clerk,  or  the  reverend  vicar  — 
Nay,  the  very  pie  in  its  cage  of  wicker  — 
She  gathered  such  meanings,  double  or  single, 


308  ^    TALE    OF    A    TRUMPET. 

That,  like  the  bell 
With  muffins  to  sell, 
Her  ear  was  kept  in  a  constant  tingle ! 

But  this  was  nought  to  the  tales  of  shame, 
The  constant  runnings  of  e\il  fame, 
Foul,  and  dirty,  and  black  as  ink. 
That  her  ancient  cronies,  with  nod  and  wink, 
Poured  in  her  horn  like  slops  in  a  sink  : 

"While  sitting  in  conclave,  as  gossips  do. 
With  their  H}son  or  Howqua,  black  or  green, 
And  not  a  little  of  feline  spleen 

Lapped  up  in  "  Catty  packages,"  too. 

To  give  a  zest  to  the  sipping  and  supping ; 
For  still,  by  some  invisible  tether. 
Scandal  and  tea  are  linked  together, 

As  sm-ely  as  scarification  and  cupping ; 
Yet  never  since  Scandal  drank  Bohea  — 
Or  sloe,  or  whatever  it  happened  to  be, 
For  some  grocerly  thieves 
Turn  over  new  leaves 
Without  much  amending  their  lives  or  their  tea  — 
No,  never  since  cup  was  filled  or  stin-ed, 
Were  such  ^ale  and  horrible  anecdotes  heard, 
As  blackened  their  neighb,ors  of  either  gender, 
Especially  that  which  is  called  the  Tender, 
But  instead  of  the  softness  we  fancy  therewith, 
As  hardened  in  %ice  as  the  vice  of  a  smith. 

Women  !  the  wretches  !  had  soiled  and  marred 

Whatever  to  womanly  nature  belongs ; 
For  the  marriage  tie  they  had  no  regard, 
Nay,  sped  their  mates  to  the  sexton's  yard, 

(Like  Madame  Laffarge,  who  with  poisonojp  pinches 

Kept  cutting  off"  her  L  by  inches) 
And  as  for  drinking,  they  drank  so  hard 


A   TALE    OF   A    TRUMPET.  309 

That  they  drank  their  flat-irons,  pokers,  and  tongs ! 
The  men  —  they  fought  and  gambled  at  fairs ; 
And  poached  —  and  didn't  respect  gray  hairs  — 
Stole  Unen,  money,  plate,  poultry,  and  corses ;  • 

And  broke  in  houses  as  well  as  horses  ; 
Unfolded  folds  to  kill  their  own  mutton. 
And  would  their  own  mothers  and  'nives  for  a  button  — 
But  not  to  repeat  the  deeds  they  did, 
BacksHding  in  spite  of  all"  moral  skid, 
If  all  were  true  that  fell  from  the  tongue, 
There  was  not  a  \illager,  old  or  young, 
But  deserved  to  be  whipped,  imprisoned,  or  hung, 
Or  sent  on  those  travels  which  nobody  hiuries 
To  publish  at  Colbm-n's,  or  Longmans',  or  Murray's. 

Meanwhile  the  trumpet,  con  amove, 
Transmitted  each  \i\e  diabolical  stoiy  ; 
And  gave  the  least  whisper  of  slips  and  falls. 
As  that  gallery  does  in  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's, 
Which,  as  all  the  world  knows,  by  jwactice  or  print, 
Is  famous  for  making  the  most  of  a  hint. 

Not  a  murmur  of  shame, 

Or  buzz  of  blame, 
Not  a  flying  report  that  flew  at  a  name, 
Not  a  plausible  gloss,  or  significant  note, 
Not  a  word  in  the  scandalous  cu'cles  afloat 
Of  a  beam  in  the  eye  or  diminutive  mote, 
But  vortex-like  that  tube  of  tin 
Sucked  the  censorious  particle  in  ; 

And,  truth  to  tell,  for  as  willing  an  organ 
As  ever  listened  to  serpent's  hiss, 
Nor  took  the  ■\ipcrous  sound  amiss, 

On  the  snaky  head  of  an  ancient  Gorgon  ! 

The  dame,  it  is  true,  would  mutter  "  Shocking!" 
And  give  her  head  a  sorroM-ful  i-ocking, 


310  ^    TALE    OF    A    TRUMPET. 

And  make  a  clucking  with  palate  and  tongue, 
Lilie  the  call  of  Partlet  to  gather  her  young,  — 

•  A  sound,  when  human,  that  ahvays  proclaims 

*  At  least  a  thousand  pities  and  shames, 

But  still  the  darker  the  tale  of  sin, 
Like  certain  folks  when  calamities  bm-st 
Who  find  a  comfort  m  "  hearmg  the  worst," 

The  further  she  poked  the  trumpet  in. 
Nay,  worse,  whatever  she  heard,  she  spread 

East,  and  West,  and  North,  and  South, 
Like  the  ball  which,  according  to  Captain  Z., 

Went  in  at  his  ear,  and  came  out  at  his  mouth. 

What  wonder,  between  the  horn  and  the  dame, 
Such  mischief  was  made  wherever  they  came, 
That  the  parish  of  Tringham  was  all  in  a  flame  ! 

For  although  it  requires  such  loud  discharges, 
Such  peals  of  thunder  as  rumbled  at  Lear, 
To  turn  the  smallest  of  table-beer, 
A  httle  wliisper  breathed  into  the  ear 

Will  sour  a  temper  "  as  sour  as  varges." 
In  fact,  such  very  ill  blood  there  grew. 

From  this  private  circulation  of  stories, 
That  the  nearest  neighbors,  the  village  through. 
Looked  at  each  other  as  yellow  and  blue 
As  any  electioneering  crew 

Wearing  the  colors  of  Whigs  and  Tories. 

Ah  !  well  the  poet  said,  in  sooth. 

That  "  whispering  tongues  can  poison  Truth," 

Yea,  hke  a  dose  of  oxaUc  acid. 

Wrench  and  convulse  poor  Peace,  the  placid. 

And  rack  dear  Love  with  intemaf  fuel. 

Like  arsenic  pastry,  or,  what  is  as  cruel, 

Sugar  of  lead,  that  sweetens  gruel ; 


A    TALE    OF    A    TRUMPET.  311 

At  least  such  torments  began  to  wring  'em 

From  the  very  morn 

When  that  mischievous  horn 
Caught  the  whisper  of  tongues  in  Tiingham. 

The  Social  Clubs  dissolved  in  huflfe, 

And  the  Sons  of  Harmony  came  to  cuflfe, 

While  feuds  arose,  and  family  quarrels, 

That  discomposed  the  mechanics  of  morals, 

For  screws  were  loose  between  brother  and  brother, 

While  sisters  fastened  then  nails  on  each  other  : 

Such  WTangles,  and  jangles,  and  miff,  and  tiff, 

And  spai',  and  jar  —  and  breezes  as  stifl' 

As  ever  upset  a  friendship  or  skiff ! 

The  plighted  lovers,  who  used  to  walk. 

Refused  to  meet,  and  declined  to  talk ; 

And  wished  for  tivo  moons  to  reflect  the  sun, 

That  they  mightn't  look  together  on  one ; 

While  wedded  affection  ran  so  low, 

That  the  oldest  John  Anderson  snubbed  his  Jo  — 

And  instead  of  the  toddle  adown  the  hill, 

Hand  in  hand. 

As  the  song  has  planned. 
Scratched  her,  penniless,  out  of  his  will ! 

In  short,  to  describe  what  came  to  pass 

In  a  true,  though  somewhat  theatrical  way. 

Instead  of  "  Love  in  a  Village  "  —  alas  ! 

The  piece  they  performed  was  "  The  Devil  to  Pay ! " 

However,  as  secrets  are  brought  to  light, 
And  mischief  comes  home  like  chickens  at  night  j 
And  rivers  are  tracked  tlu'oughout  theii-  course. 
And  forgeries  traced  to  theh  proper  somxe  ;  — 

And  the  sow  that  ought 

By  the  ear  is  caught,  — 


312  A.    TALE    OF   A    TRUMPET. 

And  the  sin  to  the  sinful  door  is  brought ; 
And  the  cat  at  last  escapes  from  the  bag  — 
And  the  saddle  is  placed  on  the  proper  nag ; 
And  the  log  blows  off,  and  the  key  is  found  — 
And  the  faulty  scent  is  picked  out  by  the  hound  — 
And  the  fact  turns  up  like  a  -worm  from  the  ground 
And  the  matter  gets  wind  to  waft  it  about ; 
And  a  hint  goes  abroad  and  the  murder  is  out  — 
And  the  riddle  is  guessed  —  and  the  puzzle  is  known  - 
So  the  truth  was  sniffed,  and  the  trumpet  was  blown  ! 


'Tis  a  day  in  November  —  a  day  of  fog  — 
But  the  Tringham  people  are  all  agog ; 
Fathers,  mothers,  and  mothers'  sons,  — 
With  sticks,  and  staves,  and  swords,  and  guns, — 
As  if  in  pursuit  of  a  rabid  dog ; 
But  their  voices  —  raised  to  the  highest  pitch  — 
Declare  that  the  game  is  "  a  Witch !  —  a  Witch ! " 
Over  the  green  and  along  by  the  George  — 
Past  the  stocks,  and  the  church,  and  the  forge, 
And  round  the  pound,  and  skirting  the  pond. 
Till  they  come  to  the  wliitewashed  cottage  beyond, 
And  there  at  the  door  they  muster  and  cluster, 
And  thump,  and  kick,  and  bellow,  and  bluster  — 
Enough  to  put  old  Nick  in  a  fluster ! 
A  noise,  indeed,  so  loud  and  long. 
And  mixed  with  expressions  so  very  strong. 
That  supposing,  according  to  popular  fame, 
"  Wise  Woman  "  and  Witch  to  be  the  same, 
No  hag  with  a  broom  would  un-wisely  stop, 
But  up  and  away  through  the  chimney-top ; 
Whereas,  the  moment  they  bm-st  the  door, 
Planted  fast  on  her  sanded  floor, 


A    TALE    OF    A    TRUMPET.  313 

With  her  trumpet  up  to  her  organ  of  hearing, 
Lo  and  behold  !  —  Dame  Eleanor  Spearing  ! 

O !  then  arises  the  fearful  shout  — 

Bawled  and  screamed,  and  bandied  about  — 

"  Seize  her  !  —  dj-ag  the  old  Jezebel  out !  " 

While  the  beadle  —  the  foremost  of  all  the  band  — 

Snatches  the  horn  from  her  trembling  hand, 

And  after  a  pause  of  doubt  and  fear, 

Puts  it  up  to  his  sharpest  ear. 

"  Now  silence  —  silence  —  one  and  all !  " 
For  the  clerk  is  quoting  from  Holy  Paul ! 

But  before  he  rehearses 

A  couple  of  verses, 
The  beadle  lets  the  trumpet  fall; 
For  instead  of  the  words  so  pious  and  humble, 
He  hears  a  supernatural  grumble. 

Enough,  enough  !  and  more  than  enough  ;  — 
Twenty  impatient  hands  and  rough. 
By  arm,  and  leg,  and  neck,  and  scrufF, 
Apron,  'kerchief,  gown  of  stuff — 
Cap,  and  pimier,  sleeve,  and  cuff — 
Are  clutching  the  Witch  wherever  they  can, 
With  the  spite  of  woman  and  fury  of  man ; 
And  then  —  but  first  they  kill  her  cat, 
And  murder  her  dog  on  the  very  mat  — 
And  crush  the  infernal  trumpet  flat ;  — 
And  then  they  hmTy  her  through  the  door 
She  never,  never,  will  enter  more  ! 

Away !  away  !  down  the  dusty  lane 
They  pull  her  and  haul  her,  with  might  and  main : 
And  happy  the  hawbuck,  Tom  or  Harry, 
Dandy,  or  Sandj ,  Jerry,  or  Larry, 

27 


314  A   TALE    OP   A    TRUMPET. 

Who  happens  to  get  a  "  leg  to  carry  !  " 

And  happy  the  foot  that  can  give  her  a  kick, 

And  happy  the  hand  that  can  find  a  brick  — 

And  happj-  the  fingers  that  hold  a  stick  — 

Knife  to  cut,  or  pin  to  prick  — 

And  happy  the  boy  who  can  lend  her  a  lick ;  — 

Nay,  happy  the  urchin  —  charity-bred  — 

Who  can  shy  very  nigh  to  her  wicked  old  head ! 

Alas !  to  think  how  people's  creeds 
Are  contradicted  by  people's  deeds  ! 

But  though  the  wishes  that  Witches  utter 
Can  play  the  most  diabolical  rigs  — 
Send  styes  in  the  eye  —  and  measle  the  pigs  — 

Grease  horses'  heels  —  and  spoil  the  butter ; 
Smut  and  mildew  the  corn  on  the  stalk  — 
And  tm"n  new  milk  to  water  and  chalk,  — 
Blight  apples  —  and  give  the  chickens  the  pip  — 
And  cramp  the  stomach  —  and  cripple  the  liip  — 
And  waste  the  body  —  and  addle  the  eggs  — 
And  give  a  baby  bandy  legs  ; 
Though  in  common  belief  a  Witch's  curse 
Involves  all  these  horrible  things  and  worse  — 
As  ignorant  bumpkms  all  profess  — 
No  bumpkin  makes  a  poke  the  less 
At  the  back  or  the  ribs  of  old  Eleanor  S. ! 

As  if  she  were  only  a  sack  of  barley ; 
Or  gives  her  credit  for  greater  might 
Than  the  powers  of  darkness  confer  at  night 

On  that  other  old  woman,  the  parish  Charley ; 
Ay,  now's  the  time  for  a  mtch  to  call 
On  her  imps  and  sucklings  one  and  all  — 
Newcs,  Pyewacket,  or  Peck  in  the  Crown, 
(As  Matthew  Hopkins  has  handed  them  down) 
Dick,  and  Willet,  and  Sugar-and-Sack, 


A    TALE    OF   A    TRUMPET.  315 

Greedy  Giizel,  Jarmara  the  Black, 

Vinegar  Tom  and  the  rest  of  the  pack  — 

Ay,  now's  the  nick  for  her  friend  Old  Harry 

To  come  "  with  his  tail "  like  the  bold  Glengarry, 

And  drive  her  foes  from  then-  savage  job 

As  a  mad  Black  Bullock  would  scatter  a  mob  :  — 

But  no  such  matter  is  down  in  the  bond ; 
And  spite  of  her  cries  that  never  cease, 
But  scare  the  ducks  and  astonish  the  geese. 

The  dame  is  dragged  to  the  fatal  pond ! 

And  now  they  come  to  the  water's  brim  — 

And  m  they  bundle  her  —  sink  or  s\rim  ; 

Though  it's  twenty  to  one  that  the  wretch  must  drown, 

With  twenty  sticks  to  hold  her  down ; 

Including  the  help  to  the  self-same  end. 

Which  a  travelling  pedler  stops  to  lend. 

A  pedler !  —  Yes  !  —  The  same  !  —  the  same ! 

Who  sold  the  horn  to  the  drowning  dame ! 

And  now  is  foremost  amid  the  stir, 

With  a  token  only  revealed  to  her ; 

A  token  that  makes  her  shudder  and  shriek, 

And  point  with  her  finger,  and  strive  to  speak  — 

But  before  she  can  utter  the  name  of  the  Devil, 

Her  head  is  mider  the  water  level ! 

floral. 

There  are  folks  about  town  —  to  name  no  names  — 
Who  much  resemble  that  deafest  of  dames ; 

And  over  then-  tea,  and  mutRns,  and  crumpets, 
Circulate  many  a  scandalous  word. 
And  whisper  tales  they  could  only  have  heard 

Tlurough  some  such  Diabolical  Triunpets ! 


316  no!  — THE   IRISH   SCHOOLMASTER. 


NO! 

No  sun  —  no  moon  ! 

No  mom  —  no  noon  — 
No  dawn  —  no  dusk  —  no  proper  time  of  day  —    ' 

No  sky  —  no  earthly  view : — 

No  distance  looking  blue  — 
No  road  —  no  street  —  no  "  t'other  side  the  way  "  ■ 

No  end  to  any  Row  — 

No  indications  where  the  Crescents  go  — 

No  top  to  any  steeple  — 
No  recognitions  of  familiar  people  — 

No  courtesies  for  showing  'em  — 

No  knowing  'em  ! 
No  travelling  at  all  —  no  locomotion, 
No  inkling  of  the  way  — no  notion  — 

"  No  go  "  —  by  land  or  ocean  — 

No  mail  —  no  post  — 

No  news  from  any  foreign  coast  — 
No  park —  no  ring —  no  afternoon  gentility  — 

No  company  —  no  nobility  — 
No  warmth,  no  cheerfulness,  no  healthful  ease, 

No  comfortable  feel  in  any  member  — 
No  shade,  no  shine,  no  butterflies,  no  bees, 
No  fruits,  no  flowers,  no  leaves,  no  birds, 

November ! 


THE   IRISH   SCHOOLMASTER. 

Alack  !  'tis  melancholy  theme  to  think 
How  Learning  doth  in  rugged  states  abide. 
And,  like  her  bashful  owl,  obscurely  blink, 


THE    IRISH    SCHOOLMASTER.  317 

In  pensive  glooms  and  comers,  scarcely  spied ; 
Not,  as  in  Founders'  Halls  and  domes  of  pride, 
Served  with  grave  homage,  like  a  tragic  queen, 
But  with  one  lonely  priest  compelled  to  hide, 
In  midst  of  foggy  moors  and  mosses  green. 
In  that  clay  cabin  hight  the  College  of  Kiheen ! 

This  oollege  looketh  South  and  West  alsoe. 
Because  it  hath  a  cast  in  windows  twain ; 
Crazy  and  cracked  they  be,  and  wind  doth  blow 
Thorough  transparent  holes  in  every  pane. 
Which  Dan,  with  many  paines,  makes  whole  again 
With  nether  garments,  which  his  thrift  doth  teach 
To  stand  for  glass,  like  j^ronouns,  and  when  rain 
Stormeth,  he  puts,  "  once  more  unto  the  breach," 
Outside  and  in,  though  broke,  yet  so  he  mendeth  each. 

And  in  the  midst  a  little  door  there  is, 
WTiereon  a  boai'd  that  doth  congratulate 
With  painted  letters,  red  as  blood  I  A\is, 
Thus  written,  "Cijil^jrcn  tafecn  in  to  Uatc;  " 
And  oft,  indeed,  the  inward  of  that  gate. 
Most  ventriloque,  doth  utter  tender  squeak. 
And  moans  of  infants  that  bemoan  their  fate 
In  midst  of  sounds  of  Latin,  French,  and  Greek, 
Which,  all  i'the  Irish  tongue,  he  teacheth  them  to  speak. 

For  some  are  meant  to  right  illegal  wrongs, 
And  some  for  Doctors  of  Di^initie, 
Whom  he  doth  teach  to  murder  the  dead  tongues, 
And  soe  win  academical  degree  ; 
But  some  are  bred  for  service  of  the  sea, 
Howbeit,  their  store  of  learning  is  but  small, 
For  mickle  waste  he  counteth  it  would  be 
27  * 


318  THE    miSH    SCHOOLMASTER. 

To  stock  a  head  with  bookish  wares  at  all, 
Only  to  be  tnocked  off  by  ruthless  cannon-ball. 

Six  babes  he  sways,  —  some  little  and  some  big. 
Divided  into  classes  six  ;  —  alsoe, 
He  keeps  a  parlor  boarder  of  a  pig. 
That  in  the  college  fareth  to  and  fro, 
And  picketh  up  the  urchins'  crumbs  below,  —  . 
And  eke  the  learned  rudiments  they  scan, 
And  thus  his  A,  B,  C,  doth  wisely  know,  — 
Hereafter  to  be  shown  in  caravan. 
And  raise  the  wonderment  of  many  a  learned  man. 

Alsoe,  he  schools  some  tame  familiar  fowls. 
Whereof,  above  his  head,  some  two  or  three 
Sit  darkly  squatting,  like  INIinerva's  owls, 
But  on  the  branches  of  no  living  tree, 
And  overlook  the  learned  family  ; 
While,  sometimes,  Partlet,  from  her  gloomy  perch, 
Drops  feather  on  the  nose  of  Dominie, 
Meanwhile,  mth  serious  eye,  he  makes  research 
In  leaves  of  that  sour  tree  of  knowledaje  —  now  a  birch. 


'O^ 


No  chair  he  hath,  the  awful  pedagogue. 
Such  as  would  magisterial  hams  imbed. 
But  sitteth  lowly  on  a  beechen  log, 
Secure  in  high  authority  and  dread  : 
Large,  as  a  dome  for  learning,  seems  his  head, 
And  like  Apollo's,  all  beset  with  rays. 
Because  his  locks  are  so  unkempt  and  red. 
And  stand  abroad  in  many  several  ways  :  — 
No  laurel  crown  he  wears,  howbeit  his  cap  is  baize, 

And,  underneath,  a  pair  of  shaggy  brows 
O'erhang  as  many  eyes  of  gizzard  hue. 
That  inward  giblet  of  a  fowl,  wliich  shows 


THE    IRISH    SCHOOLMASTER.  319 

A  mongrel  tmt,  that  is  ne  brow  ne  blue ; 
His  nose,  —  it  is  a  coral  to  the  view ; 
Well  nourished  with  Pierian  potheen,  — 
For  much  he  loves  his  native  mountain  dew ;  — 
But  to  depict  the  dye  would  lack,  I  ween, 
A  bottle-red,  in  terms,  as  well  as  bottle-green. 

As  for  his  coat,  'tis  such  a  jerkin  short 
As  Spenser  had,  ere  he  composed  his  Tales  ; 
But  underneath  he  hath  no  vest,  nor  aught, 
So  that  the  ^\ind  liis  au-y  breast  assails ; 
Below,  he  wears  the  nether  garb  of  males. 
Of  crimson  plush,  but  non-plushed  at  the  knee  :  — 
Thence  further  down  the  native  red  prevails. 
Of  his  own  naked  fleecy  hosierie  :  — 
Two  sandals,  without  soles,  complete  his  eap-a-pie. 

Nathless,  for  dignity,  he  now  doth  lap 
His  function  in  a  magisterial  gown, 
That  shows  more  comitries  in  it  than  a  map,  — 
Blue  tinct,  and  red,  and  green,  and  russet  brown, 
Besides  some  blots,  standing  for  country-town  ; 
And  eke  some  rents,  for  streams  and  rivers  wide  ; 
But,  sometimes,  bashful  when  he  looks  adown, 
He  turns  the  gannent  of  the  other  side, 
Hopeful  that  so  the  holes  may  never  be  espied ! 

And  soe  he  sits,  amidst  the  little  pack, 

That  look  for  shady  or  for  sunny  noon, 

Within  liis  visage,  like  an  almanack,  — 

His  quiet  smile  foreteUing  gracious  boon : 

But  when  his  mouth  droops  down,  lilte  rainy  moon, 

With  horrid  chill  each  little  heart  unwarms. 

Knowing  that  infant  showers  will  follow  soon, 


320  THE    IRISH    SCHOOLMASTER. 

And  with  forebodings  of  near  wrath  and  storms 
They  sit,  lilve  timid  hares,  all  trembling  on  their  forms. 

Ah !  luckless  wight,  who  cannot  then  repeat 
«  Cordmroy  Colloquy,"  —  or  "Ki,  Ka?,  Kod," — 
Full  soon  his  tears  shall  make  his  turfy  seat 
More  sodden,  though  already  made  of  sod, 
For  Dan  shall  whip  him  yfith.  the  word  of  God,  — 
Severe  by  rule,  and  not  by  nature  mild, 
He  never  spoils  the  child  and  spares  the  rod. 
But  spoils  the  rod  and  never  sjmres  the  child, 
And  soe  with  holy  rule  deems  he  is  reconciled. 

But  surely  the  just  sky  will  never  wink 
At  men  who  take  dehght  in  childish  throe, 
And  stripe  the  nether-urchin  like  a  pink 
Or  tender  hyacinth,  inscribed  with  woe ; 
Such  bloody  pedagogues,  when  they  shall  know. 
By  useless  birches,  that  forlorn  recess, 
Which  is  no  hoHday,  in  Pit  below, 
Will  hell  not  seem  designed  for  their  distress, — 
A  melancholy  place,  that  is  all  bottomlesse  ? 

Yet  would  the  Muse  not  chide  the  wholesome  use 
Of  needful  discipUne,  in  due  degree. 
Devoid  of  sway,  what  wrongs  will  time  produce ! 
Whene'er  the  twig  untrained  grows  up  a  tree, 
This  shall  a  Carder,  that  a  Whiteboy  be. 
Ferocious  leaders  of  atrocious  bands. 
And  Learning's  help  be  used  for  infamie. 
By  lawless  clerks,  that,  with  their  bloody  hands. 
In  murdered  EngUsh  write  Rock's  mmrderous  commands. 

But,  ah !  what  shriUy  cry  doth  now  alarm 
The  sooty  fowls  that  dozed  upon  the  beam. 


THE    IRISH    SCHOOLMASTER  321 

All  sudden  fluttering  from  the  brandished  arm 
And  cackHng  chorus  with  the  human  scream  ; 
Meanwhile  the  scourge  phes  that  unkindly  seam 
In  Phelim's  brogues,  which  bares  his  naked  skin, 
Like  traitor  gap  in  warlike  fort,  I  deem, 
That  falsely  lets  the  fierce  besieger  in. 
Nor  seeks  the  pedagogue  by  other  com-se  to  vm. 

No  parent  dear  he  hath  to  heed  his  cries  ;  — 
Alas  !  his  parent  dear  is  far  aloof. 
And  deep  in  Seven-Dial  cellar  lies. 
Killed  by  kind  cudgel-play,  or  gin  of  proof, 
Or  climbeth,  catwise,  on  some  London  roof. 
Singing,  perchance,  a  lay  of  Erin's  Isle, 
Or,  whilst  he  labors,  weaves  a  fancy-woof. 
Dreaming  he  sees  his  home,  —  his  Phelim  smile  ; 
Ah,  me  !  that  luckless  imp,  who  weepeth  all  the  while ! 

Ah !  who  can  paint  that  hard  and  heavy  time, 
When  first  the  scholar  lists  in  Learning's  train, 
And  mounts  her  rugged  steep  enforced  to  climb, 
Like  sooty  imp,  by  sharp  posterior  pain. 
From  bloody  twig,  and  eke  that  Indian  cane, 
Wherein,  alas!  no  sugared  juices  dwell? 
For  this,  the  while  one  stripling's  sluices  drain, 
Another  weepeth  over  chilblains  fell. 
Always  upon  the  heel,  yet  never  to  be  well ! 

Anon  a  third,  for  his  delicious  root. 

Late  rarished  from  his  tooth  by  elder  chit. 

So  soon  is  human  ^^olence  afoot. 

So  hardly  is  the  harmless  biter  bit ! 

Meanwhile,  the  tyrant,  with  untimely  wit 

And  mouthing  face,  derides  the  small  one's  moan. 

Who,  all  lamenting  for  his  loss,  doth  sit, 


322  THE    IRISH    SCHOOLMASTER. 

Alack,  —  mischance  comes  seldomtimes  alone, 
But  ay  the  worried  dog  must  rue  more  curs  than  one. 

For,  lo !  the  pedagogue,  with  sudden  drub, 
Smites  his  scald  head,  that  is  already  sore,  — 
Superfluous  -wound,  —  such  is  Misfortune's  rub  ! 
Who  straight  makes  answer  wdth  redoubled  roar, 
And  sheds  salt  tears  twice  faster  than  before, 
That  still  with  backward  fist  he  strives  to  dry  ; 
Washing  with  brackish  moisture,  o'er  and  o'er, 
His  muddy  cheek,  that  grows  more  foul  thereby, 
Till  all  his  rai:iy  face  looks  grim  as  rainy  sky. 

So  Dan,  by  dint  of  noise,  obtains  a  peace, 
And  ^dth  his  natural  untender  knack. 
By  new  distress,  bids  former  grievance  cease, 
Like  tears  dried  up  with  rugged  huckaback, 
That  sets  the  mournful  ^^sage  all  awrack ; 
Yet  soon  the  cliildisli  countenance  will  shine 
Even  as  thorough  storms  the  soonest  slack, 
For  grief  and  beef  in  adverse  ways  incline. 
This  keeps,  and  that  decays,  when  duly  soaked  in  brine. 

Now,  all  is  hushed,  and,  with  a  look  profound. 
The  Dominie  lays  ope  the  learned  page ; 
(So  be  it  called)  although  he  doth  expound 
Without  a  book,  both  Greek  and  Latin  sage ; 
Now  telleth  he  of  Rome's  rude  infant  age, 
How  Romulus  was  bred  in  savage  wood, 
By  wet-nurse  wolf,  devoid  of  wolfish  rage. 
And  laid  foundation-stone  of  walls  of  mud. 
But  watered  it,  alas !  with  warm  fraternal  blood. 

Anon,  he  turns  to  that  Homeric  war, 

How  Troy  WEis  sieged  like  Londonderrj'  town  ; 


THE    IRISH    SCHOOLMASTER.  323 

And  stout  Achilles,  at  his  jaunting-car, 
Dragged  mighty  Hector  with  a  bloody  crown : 
And  eke  the  bard,  that  sung  of  their  renowai, 
In  garb  of  Greece  most  beggar-like  and  torn, 
■  He  paints,  with  colly,  wandering  up  and  down  : 
Because,  at  once,  in  seven  cities  born  ; 
And  so,  of  parish  rights,  was,  all  Ms  days,  forlorn. 

Anon,  through  old  Mythology  he  goes. 
Of  gods  defunct,  and  all  their  pedigrees. 
But  shims  their  scandalous  amours,  and  shows 
How  Plato  wise,  and  clear-eyed  Socrates, 
Confessed  not  to  those  heathen  he's  and  she's  ; 
But  through  the  clouds  of  the  Olympic  cope 
Beheld  St.  Peter  with  his  holy  keys, 
And  owned  their  love  was  nought,  and  bowed  to  Pope, 
Whilst  all  their  purblind  race  in  Pagan  mist  did  grope. 

From  such  quaint  themes  he  turns,  at  last,  aside, 
To  new  philosophies,  that  still  are  green, 
And  shows  what  raih-oads  have  been  tracked  to  guide 
The  wheels  of  great  political  macliine  ; 
If  English  corn  should  grow  abroad,  I  ween, 
And  gold  be  made  of  gold,  or  paper  sheet ; 
How  many  pigs  be  bom  to  each  spalpeen  ; 
And,  ah  !  how  man  shall  thrive  beyond  his  meat,  — 
With  twenty  souls  aUve  to  one  square  sod  of  peat ! 

Here  he  makes  end  ;  and  all  the  fry  of  youth, 
That  stood  around  with  serious  look  intense, 
Close  up  again  their  gaping  e\cs  and  mouth, 
Which  they  had  opened  to  liis  eloquence, 
As  if  their  healing  were  a  three-fold  sense. 
But  now  the  current  of  his  words  is  done, 
And  whether  any  fruits  shall  spring  fi-om  thence 


324  THE    IRISH    SCHOOLMASTER. 

In  future  time,  with  any  mother's  son  ! 
It  is  a  thing,  God  wot !  that  can  be  told  by  none. 

Now  by  the  creeping  shadows  of  the  noon, 
The  hour  is  come  to  lay  aside  their  lore ; 
The  cheerful  pedagogue  joerceives  it  soon, 
And  cries  "  Begone  ! "  unto  the  imps,  —  and  four 
Snatch  their  two  hats  and  struggle  for  the  door, 
Like  ardent  spirits  vented  from  a  cask. 
All  blithe  and  boisterous,  —  but  leave  two  more, 
With  Reading  made  Uneasy  for  a  task, 
To  weep,  whilst. all  their  mates  in  merry  sunshhie  bask. 

Like  sportive  Elfins,  on  the  verdant  sod. 
With  tender  moss  so  sleekly  overgrown, 
That  doth  not  hurt,  but  kiss,  the  sole  unshod, 
So  soothly  kind  is  Erin  to  her  own  ! 
And  one,  at  Hare  and  Hound,  plajs  all  alone,  — 
For  Phelim's  gone  to  tend  his  step-dame's  cow ; 
Ah  !  Phelim's  step-dame  is  a  cankered  crone  ! 
Whilst  other  twain  ])lay  at  an  Irish  row, 
And,  with  shillelah  small,  break  one  another's  brow ! 

But  careful  Dominie,  with  ceaseless  thrift, 
Now  changeth  ferula  for  rural  hoe  ; 
But,  first  of  all,  Avith  tender  hand  doth  shift 
His  college  gown,  because  of  solar  glow, 
And  hangs  it  on  a  bush,  to  scare  the  crow : 
]\Ieanwhile,  ho  plants  in  earth  the  da])pled  bean, 
Or  trains  the  young  potatoes  all  a-ro-w, 
Or  plucks  the  fragrant  leek  for  pottage  green, 
With  that  crisp  curly  herb,  called  Kale  in  Aberdeen. 

And  so  he  wisely  spends  the  finiitful  hours, 
Linked  each  to  each  by  labor,  like  a  bee, 


TO 325 

Or  rules  in  Learning's  hall,  or  trims  her  bowers  ; 
AVould  there  were  many  more  such  wights  as  he, 
To  sway  each  capital  academie 
Of  Cam  and  Isis  ;  for,  alack  !  at  each 
There  dwells,  I  wot,  some  di-onish  Dominie, 
That  does  no  garden  work,  nor  yet  doth  teach, 
But  wears  a  lloui-y  head,  and  talks  in  flowery  speech ! 


TO 


COMPOSED    AT    ROTTERDAM. 


I  GAZE  upon  a  city,  —  a  city  new  and  strange ; 
Down  many  a  watery  vista  my  fancy  takes  a  range  : 
From  side  to  side  I  saunter,  and  wonder  where  I  am ; 
And  can  you  be  in  England,  and  /  at  Rotterdam  ! 

Before  me  lie  dark  waters,  in  broad  canals  and  deep, 
Whereon  the  silver  moonbeams  sleep,  restless  in  their 

sleep  ; 
A  sort  of  vulgar  Venice  reminds  me  where  I  am ; 
Yes,  yes,  you  are  in  England,  and  I'm  at  Rotterdam. 

Tall  houses  with  quaint  gables,  where  frequent  windows 

sliine. 
And  quays  that  lead  to  bridges,  and  trees  in  formal  line, 
And  masts  of  spicy  vessels  from  western  Surinam, 
All  tell  me  you're  in  England,  but  I'm  in  Rotterdam. 

Those  sailors,  how  outlandish  the  face  and  form  of  each! 
They  deal  in  foreign  gestures,  and  use  a  foreign  speech  ; 
A  tongue  not  learned  near  Isis,  or  studied  by  the  Cam, 
Declares  that  you're  in  England,  and  I'm  at  Rotterdam. 
28 


326  LOVE. 

And  now  across  a  market  my  doubtful  way  I  trace, 
Whore  stands  a  solemn  statue,  the  Genius  of  the  place  ; 
And  to  the  great  Erasmus  I  offer  my  salaam, 
Who  tells  me  you're  in  England,  but  I'm  at  Rotterdam. 

The  coffee-room  is  open  —  I  mingle  in  its  crowd  — 
The  dominos  are  noisy  —  the  hookahs  raise  a  cloud  ; 
The  flavor  now  of  Fearon's,  that  mingles  with  my  dram, 
Reminds  me  you're  in  England,  and  I'm  at  Rotterdam. 

Then  here  it  goes,  a  bumper — the  toast  it  shall  be  mine, 
In  scheidam,  or  in  sherry,  tokay,  or  hock  of  Rhine ; 
It  well  deserves  the  brightest,  where  sunbeam  ever  swam  — 
"  The  Girl  I  love  in  England  "  I  di'ink  at  Rotterdam ! 

March,  1S35. 


LOVE. 

O,  Lo\'E  !  what  art  thou.  Love  ?  the  ace  of  hearts. 
Trumping  earth's  kings  and  queens,  and  all  its  suits; 

A  player,  masquerading  many  parts 

In  life's  odd  carnival ;  —  a  boy  that  shoots. 

From  ladies'  eyes,  such  mortal  woundy  darts ; 
A  gardener,  pulling  heart's-ease  up  by  the  roots  ; 

The  Puck  of  Passion  —  partly  false  —  j^art  real  — 

A  marriageable  maiden's  "  beau  ideal "  ? 

O,  Love  !  what  art  thou,  Love  ?  a  wicked  thing. 
Making  green  misses  spoil  their  work  at  school ; 

A  melancholy  man,  cross-gartering  ! 

Grave  ripe-faced  Wisdom  made  an  April  fool  ? 

A  youngster,  tilting  at  a  wedding-ring  ? 
A  sinner,  sitting  on  a  cuttie-stool  ? 

A  Ferdinand  de  Something  in  a  hovel, 

Helpmg  Matilda  Rose  to  make  a  novel  ? 


THE    SEASON.  327 

O,  Love  !  what  art  thou,  Love  ?  one  that  is  bad 
With  palpitations  of  the  heart  —  like  mine  — 

A  poor  bewildered  maid,  making  so  sad 
A  necklace  of  her  garters  —  fell  design  ! 

A  poet,  gone  unreasonably  mad. 

Ending  his  sonnets  with  a  hempen  line  ? 

O,  Love  I  —  but  whither,  now  ?  forgive  me,  pray ; 

I'm  not  the  first  that  Love  hath  led  astray. 


THE   SEASON. 


Summer's  gone  and  over ! 

Fogs  are  falling  down  ; 
And  with  russet  tinges 

Autumn's  doing  brown. 

Boughs  are  daily  rifled 
Bj^  the  gusty  thieves, 

And  the  Book  of  Nature 
Getteth  short  of  leaves. 

Round  the  tops  of  houseSy 
Swallows,  as  they  flit, 

Give,  like  yearly  tenants, 
Notices  to  quit. 

Skies,  of  fickle  temper, 

Weep  by  turns,  and  laugh  • 

Night  and  Day  together 
Taking  half-and-half. 

So  September  endeth  — 
Cold,  and  most  perverse  — 

But  the  month  that  follows 
Sure  will  pinch  us  worse  i 


328  FAITHLESS   SALLY    BROWN. 

FAITHLESS   SALLY  BROWN. 

AN    OLD    BALLAD. 

Young  Ben  he  was  a  nice  young  man, 

A  carpenter  by  trade  ; 
And  he  fell  in  love  with  Sally  Brown, 

That  was  a  lady's  maid. 

But  as  they  fetched  a  walk  one  day, 
They  met  a  press-gang  crew ; 

And  Sally  she  did  faint  away, 
Whilst  Ben  he  was  brought  to. 

The  boatswain  swore  with  wicked  words. 

Enough  to  shock  a  saint, 
That  though  she  did  seem  in  a  fit, 

'Twas  nothing  but  a  feint. 

"  Come,  girl,"  said  he,  "  hold  up  yoiu:  head. 

He'll  be  as  good  as  me ; 
For  when  your  swain  is  in  our  boat, 

A  boatswain  he  will  be." 

So  when  they'd  made  their  game  of  her. 

And  taken  off  her  elf, 
She  roused,  and  found  she  only  was 

A  coming  to  herself. 

"  And  is  he  gone,  and  is  he  gone  ?  * 
She  cried,  and  wept  outright : 

"  Then  I  will  to  the  water  side. 
And  see  him  out  of  sight." 


TAITHLESS    SALLY    BROWN.  329 

A  waterman  came  up  to  her,  — 

"  Now,  yomig  woman,"  said  he, 
"  K  you  weep  on  so,  you  will  make 

Eye-water  in  the  sea." 

"  Alas  !  they've  taken  my  beau,  Ben, 

To  sail  with  old  Benbow  ;  " 
And  her  woe  began  to  run  afresh. 

As  if  she'd  said.  Gee  woe  ! 

Says  he,  "  They've  only  taken  him 

To  the  Teuder-ship,  you  see  ;  " 
"The  Tender-ship,"  cried  Sally  Brown, 

"  What  a  hard-ship  that  must  be  ! 

"  O  !  would  I  were  a  mermaid  now, 

For  then  I'd  follow  him  ; 
But,  O  !  —  I'm  not  a  fish-woman, 

And  so  I  camiot  swim. 

"  Alas  !  I  was  not  bom  beneath 

The  \ii-gin  and  the  scales, 
So  I  must  cm-se  my  cruel  stars. 

And  walk  about  in  Wales." 

Now  Ben  had  sailed  to  many  a  place 

That's  undei'neath  the  world  ; 
But  in  two  years  the  ship  came  home. 

And  all  her  sails  vv'ere  ftirled. 

But  when  he  called  on  Sally  Brown, 

To  see  how  she  got  on. 
He  found  she'd  got  another  Ben, 

Whose  Christian  name  was  John. 
28* 


330  bianca's  dream. 

"  O,  Sally  Bro-mi,  O,  Sally  Bro-wn, 
How  could  you  serve  me  so  ? 

I've  met  with  many  a  breeze  before, 
But  never  such  a  blow !  " 

Then  reading  on  his  'bacco-box, 

He  heaved  a  heav}'  sigh, 
And  then  began  to  eye  his  pipe, 

And  then  to  pipe  his  eye. 

And  then  he  tried  to  sing  "  All's  Well," 
But  could  not,  though  he  tried  ; 

His  head  was  tm-ned,  and  so  he  chewed 
His  pigtail  till  he  died. 

His  death,  which  happened  in  his  berth, 

At  forty-odd  befell : 
They  went  and  told  the  sexton,  and 

The  sexton  tolled  the  bell. 


BIANCA'S  DREAM. 

a    VENETIAN    STOKY. 

BlANCA !  —  fair  Bianca !  —  who  could  dwell 
With  safety  on  her  dark  and  hazel  gaze, 

Nor  find  there  Im-ked  in  it  a  witching  spell, 
Fatal  to  balmy  nights  and  blessed  days  ? 

The  peaceful  breath  that  made  the  bosom  swell 
She  turned  to  gas,  and  set  it  in  a  blaze  ; 

Each  eye  of  hers  had  Love's  Eupyrion  in  it. 

That  he  could  light  his  link  at  in  a  minute. 

So  that,  wherever  in  her  charms  she  shone, 
A  thousand  breasts  were  kindled  into  flame ; 


biaxca's  dkeam.  331 

Maidens  who  cursed  her  looks  forgot  theh-  own, 

And  beaux  were  tm-ned  to  flambeaux  where  she  came  ; 

All  hearts  indeed  were  conquered  but  her  own, 
Which  none  could  ever  temper  down  or  tame  : 

In  short,  to  take  our  haberdasher's  huits, 

She  might  have  written  over  it,  —  "  From  Flints." 

She  was,  in  truth,  the  wonder  of  her  sex, 

At  least  in  Venice  —  where  with  eyes  of  bro^vn, 

Tenderly  languid,  ladies  seldom  vex 

An  amorous  gentle  with  a  needless  frown  ; 

Where  gondolas  convey  guitai'S  by  pecks, 

And  love  at  casements  climbeth  up  and  down, 

Whom,  for  his  tricks  and  custom  in  that  kind, 

Some  have  considered  a  Venetian  blind. 

Howbeit,  this  difference  was  quickly  taught. 

Amongst  more  youths  who  had  this  cruel  jailer, 

To  hapless  Julio  —  all  in  vain  he  sought 

With  each  new  moon  his  hatter  and  his  tailor ; 

In  vain  the  richest  padusoy  he  bought, 

And  went  in  bran-new  beaver  to  assail  her  — 

As  if  to  show  that  Love  had  made  him  smart 

All  over  —  and  not  merely  round  his  heart. 

In  vain  he  labored  through  the  sylvan  park  • 

Bianca  haunted  in  —  that  where  she  came 

Her  learned  eyes  in  wandering  might  mark 
The  twisted  cipher  of  her  maiden  name,     , 

Wholesomely  going  through  a  com"se  of  bark : 
No  one  was  touched  or  troubled  by  his  flame, 

Except  the  Dryads,  those  old  maids  that  grow 

In  trees,  —  like  wooden  dolls  in  embryo. 

In  vain  com])laining  elegies  he  writ, 

And  taught  his  tmietul  instrument  to  grieve, 


332  bianca's  dream. 

And  sang  in  quavers  how  his  heart  was  split, 
Constant  beneath  her  lattice  with  each  eve ; 

She  mocked  his  wooing  with  her  wicked  wit, 

And  slashed  his  suit  so  that  it  matched  his  sleeve, 

Till  he  grew  silent  at  the  vesper  star, 

And,  quite  despairing,  hamstringed  his  guitar. 

Bianca's  heart  was  coldly  frosted  o'er 

With  snows  unmelting  —  an  eternal  sheet ; 

But  his  was  red  within  him,  like  the  core 
Of  old  Vesuvius,  with  perpetual  heat  ; 

And  oft  he  longed  internally  to  pour 
His  tiames  and  glowing  lava  at  her  feet, 

But  when  his  burnings  he  began  to  spout. 

She  stopped  his  mouth,  and  put  the  crater  out. 

Meanwhile  he  wasted  in  the  eyes  of  men, 
So  thin,  he  seemed  a  sort  of  skeleton-key 

Suspended  at  Death's  door  —  so  pale — and  then 
He  turned  as  nervous  as  an  aspen-tree  ; 

The  hfe  of  man  is  three-score  years  and  ten, 
But  he  was  perishing  at  twenty-three. 

For  people  truly  said,  as  grief  grew  stronger, 

"  It  could  not  shorten  his  poor  life  —  much  longer." 

For  why,  he  neither  slept,  nor  drank,  nor  fed, 
Nor  relished  any  kind  of  mirth  below ; 

Fire  in  his  heart,  and  frenzy  in  his  head. 
Love  h^d  become  his  imiversal  foe. 

Salt  in  his  sugar  —  nightmare  in  his  bed, 
At  last,  no  wonder  wretched  Julio, 

A  sorrow-z'idden  thing,  in  utter  dearth 

Of  hope,  —  made  up  his  mind  to  cut  her  girth  ! 

For  hapless  lovers  always  died  of  old, 
Sooner  than  chew  reflection's  bitter  cud  5 


bianca's  deeam.  333 

So  Thisbe  stuck  herself,  what  time  'tis  told 
The  tender-heai'ted  mulberries  wept  blood  : 

And  so  poor  Sappho,  when  her  boy  was  cold, 
Drowned  her  salt  tear-drops  in  a  salter  flood. 

Their  fame  still  breathing,  though  their  breath  be  past, 

For  those  old  suitors  lived  beyond  their  last. 

So  Julio  went  to  di-own,  —  when  life  was  dull, 
But  took  his  corks,  and  merely  had  a  bath  ; 

And  once,  he  pulled  a  trigger  at  his  skull. 
But  merely  broke  a  window  in  his  wrath  ; 

And  once,  his  hopeless  being  to  annul. 
He  tied  a  pack-thread  to  a  beam  of  lath," 

A  line  so  ample,  'twas  a  query  whether 

Twas  meant  to  be  a  halter  or  a  tether. 

Smile  not  in  scorn,  that  Julio  did  not  thrust 
His  sorrows  through  —  'tis  horrible  to  die  ; 

And  come  down  with  our  little  all  of  dust, 
That  dun  of  all  the  duns  to  satisfy  ; 

To  leave  Hfe's  pleasant  city  as  we  must. 

In  Death's  most  dreary  sponging-house  to  lie, 

Where  even  all  our  personals  must  go 

To  pay  the  debt  of  nature  that  we  owe ! 

So  JuHo  lived  :  —  'twas  nothing  but  a  pet 

He  took  at  hfe  —  a  momentary  spite  ; 
Besides,  he  hoped  that  time  would  some  day  get 

The  better  of  love's  flame,  however  bright, 
A  thing  that  time  has  never  compassed  yet. 

For  love,  we  know,  is  an  immortal  light. 
Like  that  old  fire,  that,  quite  beyond  a  doubt, 
Was  always  in,  —  for  none  have  found  it  out. 

Meanwhile,  Bianca  dreamed  —  'twas  once  when  night 
Along  the  dai'kened  plain  began  to  creep, 


334  BIANCA'S    DIIEAM. 

Like  a  young  Hottentot,  whose  eyes  are  bright, 

Although  in  skin  as  sooty  as  a  sweep : 
The  flowers  had  shut  their  eyes  —  the  zephyi-  light 

Was  gone,  for  it  had  rocked  the  leaves  to  sleep, 
And  all  the  little  birds  had  laid  their  heads 
Under  their  wings  —  sleeping  in  feather  beds. 

Lone  in  her  chamber  sate  the  dark-eyed  maid, 
Bv  easy  stages  jaunting  through  her  prayers. 

But  listening  side  long  to  a  serenade. 

That  robl^ed  the  saints  a  little  of  then"  shares  ; 

For  Julio  underneath  the  lattice  played 
His  Deh  Vieni,  and  such  amorous  airs. 

Born  only  underneath  ItaUan  slues. 

Where  every  fiddle  has  a  Bridge  of  Sighs. 

Sweet  was  the  tune  —  the  words  were  even  sweeter, 
Praising  her  eyes,  her  lips,  her  nose,  her  hair, 

With  all  the  common  tropes  whcre'with  in  metre 
The  hackney  poets  overcharge  their  fair. 

Her  shape  was  like  Diana's,  hut  completer  ; 
Her  brow  with  Grecian  Helen's  might  compare. 

Cupid,  alas !  was  cruel  Sagittarius, 

JuUo  —  the  weeping  waterman  Aquarius. 

Now,  after  listing  to  such  laudings  rare, 

'Twas  very  natural  indeed  to  go  — 
What  if  she  did  postpone  one  little  prayer !  — 

To  ask  her  mirror  "  if  it  was  not  so  ?  " 
'Twas  a  large  mirror,  none  the  Avorse  for  wear, 

Reflecting  her  at  once  ft'om  top  to  toe  : 
And  there  she  gazed  upon  that  glossy  track, 
That  showed  her  front  face,  though  it  "gave  her  back." 

And  long  her  lovely  eyes  were  held  in  thrall. 
By  that  dear  page  where  first  the  woman  reads  : 


biaxca's  dream.  335 

That  Julio  was  no  flatterer,  none  at  all, 

She  told  herself —  and  then  she  told  her  beads 

^leanwhile,  the  nerves  insensibly  let  fall 
Two  cm-tains  faii-er  than  the  Kly  breeds ; 

For  sleep  had  crept  and  kissed  her  unawares, 

Just  at  the  half-way  milestone  of  her  prayers. 

Then  like  a  drooping  rose  so  bended  she, 
Till  her  bowed  head  upon  her  hand  reposed ; 

But  still  she  plainly  saw,  or  seemed  to  see, 

That  fair  reflection,  though  her  eyes  were  closed, 

A  beauty  bright,  as  it  was  wont  to  be, 

A  portrait  Fancy  painted  while  she  dozed : 

'Tis  very  natural,  some  people  say. 

To  dream  of  what  we  dwell  on  in  the  day. 

Still  shone  her  face  —  yet  not,  alas  !  the  same, 
But  'gan  some  dreaiy  touches  to  assume, 

And  sadder  thoughts  with  sadder  changes  came  — 
Her  eyes  resigned  their  light,  her  lips  their  bloom. 

Her  teeth  fell  out,  her  tresses  did  the  same. 

Her  cheeks  were  tinged  with  bile,  her  eyes  with  rheum  : 

There  was  a  throbbing  at  her  heart  within. 

For,  O  !  there  was  a  shooting  in  her  chin. 


o 


And,  lo  I  upon  her  sad  desponding  brow 

The  cruel  trenches  of  besieging  age. 
With  seams,  but  most  unseemly,  'gan  to  show 

Her  place  was  booking  for  the  seventh  stage  ; 
And  where  her  raven  tresses  ased  to  flow. 

Some  locks  that  time  had  left  her  in  his  rage, 
And  some  mock  ringlets,  made  her  forehead  shady, 
A  compound  (like  om*  Psalms)  of  tcte  and  braidy. 

Then  for  her  shape  —  alas  !  how  Saturn  wrecks. 
And  bends,  and  corkscrews  all  the  frame  about, 


336  bianca's  dream. 

Doubles  the  hams,  and  crooks  the  straightest  necks, 
Draws  in  the  nape,  and  pushes  forth  the  snout, 

Makes  backs  and  stomachs  concave  or  convex  : 
Witness  those  pensioners  called  In  and  Out, 

Who,  all  day  watching  first  and  second  rater. 

Quaintly  imbend  themselves  —  but  grow  no  straighter 

So  time  with  fail*  Bianca  dealt,  and  made 

Her  shape  a  bow,  that  once  was  like  an  arrow ; 

His  iron  hand  upon  her  spine  he  laid, 

And  twisted  all  awry  her  "  winsome  marrow." 

In  truth  it  was  a  change  !  —  she  had  obeyed 
The  holy  Pope  before  her  chest  grew  narrow, 

But  spectacles  and  palsy  seemed  to  make  her 

Something  between  a  Glassite  and  a  Quaker. 

Her  grief  and  gall  meanwhile  were  quite  extreme, 
And  she  had  ample  reason  for  her  trouble ; 

For  what  sad  maiden  can  endure  to  seem 

Set  in  for  singleness,  though  gi'owing  double  ? 

The  fancy  maddened  her ;  but  now  the  dream, 
Grown  thin  by  getting  bigger,  like  a  bubble. 

Burst,  —  but  still  left  some  fragments  of  its  size, 

That,  like  the  soap-suds,  smarted,  in  lier  eyes. 

And  here  — just  here  —  as  she  began  to  heed 
The  real  world,  her  clock  chimed  out  its  score ; 

A  clock  it  was  of  the  Venetian  breed, 

That  cried  the  hour  fi'oni  one  to  twent)--four. 

The  works  moreover  standing  in  some  need 
Of  workmanship,  it  struck  some  dozens  more ; 

A  warning  voice  that  clenched  Bianca's  fears. 

Such  strokes  referring  doubtless  to  her  years. 

At  fifteen  chimes  she  was  but  half  a  nun, 
By  twenty  she  had  quite  renounced  the  veil ; 


kiaxca's  dream.  337 

She  thought  of  JuUo  just  at  twentj'-one, 

And  thirty  made  her  very  sad  and  pale, 
To  paint  that  ruin  -where  her  chamis  would  run ; 

At  forty  all  the  maid  began  to  fail, 
And  thought  no  higher,  as  the  late  dream  crossed  her, 
Of  single  blessedness,  than  smgle  Gloster. 

And  so  Bianca  changed ;  —  the  next  sweet  evenj 

With  Julio  in  a  black  Venetian  bark. 
Rowed  slow  and  stealthily  —  the  hour,  eleven, 

Just  sounding  from  the  tower  old  St.  Mark, 
She  sate  with  eyes  turned  quietly  to  heaven, 

Perchance  rejoicing  in  the  grateful  dark 
That  veiled  her  blushing  cheek,  —  for  Julio  brought  her 
Of  com-se  —  to  break  the  ice  upon  the  water. 

But  what  a  puzzle  is  one's  serious  mind 
To  ojjen !  —  oysters,  when  the  ice  is  thick. 

Are  not  so  difficult  and  disinclined  ; 
And  Julio  felt  the  declaration  stick 

About  his  throat  in  a  most  awful  kind ; 
However,  he  contrived  by  l)its  to  pick 

His  trouble  forth,  —  much  like  a  rotten  cork 

Groped  fi'om  a  long-necked  bottle  with  a  fork. 

But  Love  is  still  the  quickest  of  all  readers ; 

And  Julio  spent,  besides  those  signs  profuse 
That  English  telegraphs  and  foreign  pleaders. 

In  help  of  language,  are  so  apt  to  use. 
Arms,  shoulders,  fingers,  all  were  interceders, 

Nods,  shrugs  and  bends,  —  Bianca  could  not  choose 
But  soften  to  his  suit  with  more  facilitj-, 
He  told  his  story  with  so  much  agility. 

"  Be  thou  my  park,  and  I  will  be  thy  dear, 
(So  he  began  at  last  to  speak  or  quote  ;) 
29 


338  bianca's  dream. 

Be  thou  my  bark,  and  I  thy  gondolier, 
(For  passion  takes  this  figurative  note ;) 

Be  thou  my  light,  and  I  thy  cliandelier ; 
Be  thou  my  dove,  and  I  will  be  thy  cote ; 

My  lily  be,  and  I  will  be  thy  river  ; 

Be  thou  my  life  —  and  I  will  be  thy  liver." 

This,  with  more  tender  logic  of  the  kind, 
He  poured  into  her  small  and  shell-hke  ear, 

That  timidly  against  his  lips  inclined  : 

Meanwhile  her  eyes  glanced  on  the  silver  sphere 

That  even  now  began  to  steal  behind 
A  dewy  vapor,  which  was  lingering  near, 

Wherein  the  dull  moon  crept  all  dim  and  pale, 

Just  like  a  virgin  putting  on  the  veil :  — 

Bidding  adieu  to  all  her  sparks  —  the  stars. 

That  erst  had  wooed  and  worshipped  in  her  train 

Saturn  and  Hesperus,  and  gallant  Mars  — 
Never  to  flirt  with  heavenly  eyes  again. 

Meanwhile,  remindful  of  the  convent  bars, 
Bianca  did  not  watch  these  signs  in  vain. 

But  turned  to  JuUo  at  the  dark  eclipse. 

With  words,  lilie  verbal  lasses,  on  her  lips. 

He  took  the  hint  full  speedily,  and,  backed 

By  love,  and  night,  and  the  occasion's  meetness, 

Bestowed  a  something  on  her  cheek  that  smacked 
(Though  quite  in  silence)  of  ambrosial  sweetness  ; 

That  made  her  think  all  other  kisses  lacked 

Till  then,  but  what  she  knew  not,  of  completeness: 
Being  used  but  sisterly  salutes  to  feel, 
Insipid  things  —  Hke  sandwiches  of  veal. 

He  took  her  hand,  and  soon  she  felt  him  wring 
The  pretty  fingers  all,  instead  of  one  ; 


OVER   THE    WAY.  339 

Anon  his  stealthy  arm  began  to  cling 

About  her  waist  that  had  been  clasped  by  none  ; 

Their  dear  confessions  I  forbear  to  sing, 

Since  cold  description  would  but  be  outrun  ; 

For  bliss  and  Irish  watches  have  the  power 

In  twenty  minutes  to  lose  half  an  hour ! 


OVER  THE  WAY. 

"  I  sat  over  against  a  window  where  tlierc  stood  a  pot  witli  very 
pretty  flowers ;  and  had  my  eyes  fixed  on  it.  when  on  a  sudden  the 
window  opened,  and  a  young  Uidy  appeared  whose  lieauty  struck 
me."  — Arabian  Nights. 

Alas  !  the  flames  of  an  unha})py  lover 
About  my  heart  and  on  my  ^itals  prey ; 
I've  caught  a  fever  that  I  can't  get  over, 
Over  the  way  ! 

0  !  why  are  eyes  of  hazel  ?  noses  Grecian  ? 
I've  lost  my  rest  by  night,  my  peace  by  day, 
For  want  of  some  brown  Holland  or  Venetian, 

Over  the  way  ! 

I've  gazed  too  often,  till  my  heart's  as  lost 
As  any  needle  in  a  stack  of  hay : 
Crosses  belong  to  love,  and  mine  is  crossed 
Over  the  way  ! 

1  cannot  read  or  write,  or  thoughts  relax  — 
Of  M'hat  avail  Lord  Althorpe  or  Earl  Grey  ? 
They  cannot  case  me  of  my  window-tax 

Over  the  way ! 

Even  on  Sunday  my  devotions  vaiy, 
And  from  St.  Bennet  Flint  they  go  astray 
To  dear  St.  Mary  Overy  —  the  Mary 
Over  the  way ! 


34-0  OVER    THE    WAY. 

0  !  if  my  godmother  A\ere  but  a  fairy, 
With  magic  wand,  how  I  would  beg  and  pray 
That  she  woidd  change  me  into  that  canary 

Over  the  way  ! 

1  env}'  every  thing  that's  near  Miss  Lindo, 
A  pug,  a  poll,  a  squirrel  or  a  jay  — 

Blest  blue-bottles !  that  buzz  about  the  window 

Over  the  way  ! 

Even  at  even,  for  there  be  no  shutters, 
I  see  her  reading  on  from  grave  to  gay, 
Some  tale  or  poem,  till  the  candle  gutters, 

Over  the  way ! 

And  then  —  O !  then  —  while  the  clear  waxen  taper 
Emits,  two  stories  high,  a  starlilve  ray, 
I  see  twelve  auburn  cmis  put  into  paper 

Over  the  way ! 

But  how  breathe  unto  her  my  deep  regards, 
Or  ask  her  for  a  whispered  ay  or  nay,  — 
Or  offer  her  my  hand,  some  thirty  yards 

Over  the  way ! 

Cold  as  the  pole  she  is  to  my  adoring ; 
Like  Captain  Lyon,  at  Repulse's  Bay, 
I  meet  an  icy  end  to  my  exploring 

Over  the  way ! 

Each  dirty  little  Savoyard  that  dances 
She  looks  on  —  Punch  —  or  chimney-sweeps  in  May  ; 
Zomids !  wherefore  cannot  I  attract  her  glances 

Over  the  way ! 

Half  out  she  leans  to  watch  a  tumbling  brat. 
Or  yelping  cm-,  run  over  by  a  dray  ; 
But  I'm  m  love  —  she  never  pities  that ! 

Over  the  way ! 


OVER   THE    WAY.  341 

I  go  to  the  same  church  —  a  love-lost  labor  ; 
Haunt  all  her  wallis,  and  dodge  her  at  the  play; 
She  does  not  seem  to  Imow  she  has  a  neighbor 

Over  the  way ! 

At  private  theatres  she  never  acts  ; 
No  Crown-and- Anchor  balls  her  fancy  sway ; 
She  never  visits  gentlemen  vdth  tracts 

Over  the  way ! 

To  billets-doux  by  post  she  shows  no  favor  — 
In  short  there  is  no  plot  that  I  can  lay 
To  break  my  wmdow-pains  to  my  enslaver 

Over  the  way ! 

I  play  the  flute  —  she  heeds  not  my  chromatics  — 
No  friend  an  introduction  can  purvey  ; 
I  wish  a  fire  would  break  out  in  the  attics 

Over  the  way ! 

My  wasted  form  ought  of  itself  to  touch  her  : 
My  baker  feels  my  aj^petite's  decay  ; 
'  And  as  for  butcher's  meat  —  O !  she's  my  butcher 

Over  the  way  ! 

At  beef  I  turn  ;  at  lamb  or  veal  I  pout ; 
I  never  ring  now  to  bring  up  the  tray ; 
My  stomach  grumbles  at  my  dining  out 

0\er  the  way ! 

I'm  weary  of  my  life  ;  without  regret 
I  could  resign  this  miserable  clay 
To  lie  within  that  box  of  mignonette 

Over  the  way ! 
29* 


342  OVEK   THE    WAY. 

I've  fitted  bullets  to  my  jjistol-bore ; 
I've  vowed  at  times  to  rush  where  trumpets  bray, 
Quite  sick  of  Number  One  —  and  Number  Four 

Over  the  way  ! 

Sometimes  my  fancy  builds  up  castles  airy, 
Sometimes  it  only  paints  a  ferme  ornee, 
A  horse  —  a  cow  —  six  fowls  —  a  pig  —  and  Mary, 

Over  the  way ! 

Sometimes  I  dream  of  her  in  bridal  white, 
Standing  before  the  altar,  like  a  fay ; 
Sometimes  of  balls,  and  neighborly  invite 

Over  the  way ! 

I've  cooed  -with  her  in  dreams,  like  any  turtle  ; 
I've  snatched  her  fi-om  the  Clyde,  the  Tweed,  and  Tay ! 
Thrice  I  have  made  a  grove  of  that  one  myrtle 

Over  the  way  ! 

Thrice  I  have  rowed  her  in  a  fairy  shallop. 
Thrice  raced  to  Gretna  in  a  neat  "  po-shay," 
And  showered  crowns  to  make  the  horses  gallop 

Over  the  way ! 

And  thrice  I've  started  up  from  dreams  appalling 
Of  killing  rivals  in  a  bloody  ft-ay  — 
There  is  a  young  man  very  fond  of  calling 

Over  the  way  ! 

O  !  happy  man  —  above  all  kings  in  glory, 
Whoever  in  her  ear  may  say  his  say. 
And  add  a  tale  of  love  to  that  one  story 

Over  the  way ! 


EPICUKEAN    KEMINISCENCES.  3i5 

Nabob  of  Ai-cot  —  Despot  of  Japan  — 
Sultan  of  Persia  —  Emperor  of  Cathay  — 
Much  rather  would  I  be  the  happy  man 

Over  the  way ! 

With  such  a  lot  my  heart  would  be  in  clover  — 
But  what  —  O,  horror !  —  what  do  I  siurvey ! 
Postilions  and  white  favors !  —  all  is  over 

Over  the  way ! 


EPICUREAN  REMINISCENCES  OF  A   SENTI- 
MENTALIST. 

"  My  Tables !    Meat  it  is,  /  set  it  dovra !  "  —  H  AittET. 

I  THINK  it  was  Spring  —  but  not  certain  I  am  — 

When  my  passion  began  fu-st  to  work ; 
But  I  know  we  were  certainly  looking  for  lamb, 

And  the  season  was  over  for  pork. 

Twas  at  Christmas,  I  think,  when  I  met  with  Miss  Chase, 
Yes,  —  for  Morris  had  asked  me  to  dine,  — 

And  I  thought  I  had  never  beheld  such  a  face, 
Or  so  noble  a  tm-key  and  chine. 

Placed  close  by  her  side,  it  made  others  quite  wild 

With  sheer  envy  to  -witness  my  luck  ; 
How  she  blushed  as  I  gave  her  some  turtle,  and  smiled 

As  I  afterwards  offered  some  duck. 

I  looked  and  I  languished,  alas !  to  my  cost, 
Through  three  courses  of  dishes  and  meats  ; 

Getting  deeper  in  love  —  but  my  heart  was  quite  lost, 
When  it  came  to  the  trifle  and  sweets ! 

With  a  rent-roll  that  told  of  my  houses  and  land, 
To  her  parents  I  told  my  designs  — 


344  EPICUKEAN    REMINISCENCES. 

And  then  to  herself  I  presented  my  hand, 
With  a  very  fine  pottle  of  pmes  ! 

I  asked  her  to  have  me  for  weal  or  for  woe, 
And  she  did  not  object  in  the  least;  — 

I  can't  teU  the  date  —  but  we  married,  I  know. 
Just  in  time  to  have  game  at  the  feast. 

We  went  to ,  it  certainly  was  the  sea-side ; 

For  the  next,  the  most  blessed  of  morns, 
I  remember  how  fondly  I  gazed  at  my  bride. 

Sitting  down  to  a  plateful  of  prawns. 

O,  never  may  memory  lose  sight  of  that  year. 
But  still  hallow  the  time  as  it  ought ! 

That  season  the  "  grass  "  was  remarkably  dear. 
And  the  peas  at  a  guinea  a  quart. 

So  happy,  like  hours,  all  our  days  seemed  to  haste, 
A  fond  pair,  such  as  poets  have  drawn, 

So  united  in  heart  —  so  congenial  in  taste  — 
We  were  both  of  us  partial  to  brawn ! 

A  long  life  I  looked  for  of  bliss  with  my  bride, 
But  then  Death  —  I  ne'er  dreamt  about  that ! 

O,  there's  nothing  is  certain  in  life,  as  I  cried 
When  my  turbot  eloped  with  the  cat ! 

My  dearest  took  ill  at  the  turn  of  the  year, 
But  the  cause  no  physician  could  nab ; 

But  somethmg  it  seemed  Uke  consumption,  I  fear,  - 
It  was  just  after  suppmg  on  crab. 

In  vain  she  was  doctored,  in  vain  she  was  dosed, 
Still  her  strength  and  her  appetite  pined  ; 

She  lost  relish  for  what  she  had  relished  the  most, 
Even  salmon  she  deeply  declined ! 


THE    CARELESSE    NURSE    MA  YD.  345 

For  months  still  I  lingered  in  hope  and  in  doubt, 
While  her  form  it  grew  wasted  and  thin  ; 

But  the  last  dying  spark  of  existence  went  out, 
As  the  oysters  were  just  coming  in ! 

She  died,  and  she  left  me  the  saddest  of  men, 

To  indulge  in  a  widower's  moan  ; 
O,  I  felt  all  the  power  of  solitude  then, 

As  I  ate  my  first  natives  alone ! 

But  when  I  beheld  Virtue's  friends  in  their  cloaks, 

And  with  sorrowful  crape  on  their  hats, 
O,  my  grief  poured  a  flood  !  and  the  out-of-door  folks 

Were  all  crying  —  I  tliink  it  was  sprats ! 


THE  CARELESSE  NURSE  MAYD. 

I  SAWE  a  Mayd  sitte  on  a  Bank, 

Beguiled  by  Wooer  fajTie  and  fond  ; 

And  whiles  His  flatterynge  Vowes  She  drank. 

Her  Nursehmge  slipt  within  a  Pond  ! 

All  Even  Tide  they  Talkde  and  Kist, 
For  She  was  fayre  and  He  was  Kinde ; 
The  Sunne  went  down  before  She  wist 
Another  Sonne  had  sett  behinde  ! 

With  angrie  Hands  and  frownynge  Browe, 
That  deemd  Her  owne  the  Urchine's  Siime, 
She  pluckt  Him  out,  but  he  was  nowe 
Past  being  Wtiipt  for  fallynge  in. 

She  then  beginnes  to  wayle  the  Ladde 
With  Shrikes  that  Echo  answerede  round  — 
O  !  foolishe  Mayd  to  be  soe  sadde 
The  Momente  that  her  Care  was  di-ownd ! 


346  ODE    TO    PERRY. 

ODE  TO  PERRY, 

THE    INVENTOR    OF    THE    PATENT    PEREYAN    PEN. 

"  In  this  good  work,  Penn  appears  the  greatest,  usefullest  of  God's 
instruments.  Firm  and  unbending  when  the  exigency  requires  it  — 
soft  and  yielding  when  rigid  inflexibility  is  not  a  desideratum  — fluent 
and  flowing,  at  need,  for  eloquent  rapidity  —  slow  and  retentive  in 
cases  of  deliberation — never  spluttering  or  by  amplification  going 
wide  of  the  mark  —  never  splitting,  if  it  can  be  helped,  with  any  one, 
but  ready  to  wear  itself  out  rather  in  their  service  —  all  things  as  it 
were  with  all  men,  —  ready  to  embrace  the  hand  of  Jew,  Christian,  or 
Mahometan,  — heavy  with  the  German,  Ught  with  the  Italian,  ob- 
lique with  the  English,  upright  with  the  Roman,  backward  in  coming 
forward  with  the  Hebrew,  —  in  short,  for  flexibility,  amiability,  con- 
stitutional durability,  general  ability,  and  universal  utility,  it  would 
he  hard  to  find  a  parallel  to  the  great  Penn."  —  Perkt's  Character- 
ISTIRS  OF  A  Settler. 

O  !  Patent  Pen-inventing  Perrian  Perry  ! 

Friend  of  the  goose  and  gander, 
That  now  unphicked  of  their  quill-feathers  wander, 
Cackluig,  and  gabbling,  dabbling,  making  merry. 

About  the  happy  fen, 
Untroubled  for  one  penny-worth  of  pen, 
For  wliich  they  chant  thy  praise  all  Britain  through. 

From  Goose-Green  unto  Gander-Cleugh !  — 

Friend  to  all  Author-kind,  — 
Whether  of  Poet  or  of  Proser,  — 
Thou  art  composer  unto  the  composer 
Of  pens,  —  yea,  patent  vehicles  for  Mind 
To  carry  it  on  jaunts,  or  more  extensive 

Pernj grinations  through  the  realms  of  thought ; 
Each  phing  from  the  Comic  to  the  Pensive, 

An  Omnibus  of  intellectual  sort ! 

Modern  improvements  in  their  course  we  feel ; 
And  while  to  iron-railroads  heavy  wares, 


ODE    TO    PERRY.  347 

Dry  goods,  and  human  bodies,  pay  theii-  fares, 

Mind  flies  on  steel, 
To  Penrith,  Penrh)-n,  even  to  Penzance ; 

Na)-,  penetrates,  perchance, 
To  Pennsylvania,  or,  without  rash  vaunts, 
To  where  the  Penguin  haunts  ! 

In  times  bygone,  when  each  man  cut  his  quill, 

With  little  Perryan  skill. 
What  homd,  awkward,  bungling  tools  of  trade 
Appeared  the  writing  implements  home-made  ! 
AVhat  Pens  were  sliced,  hewed,  hacked,  and  haggled  out, 
Slit  or  unsHt,  with  many  a  various  snout. 
Aquiline,  lloman,  crooked,  square,  and  snubby. 

Stumpy  and  stubby  ; 
Some  capable  of  ladye-billets  neat. 
Some  only  fit  for  ledger-keeping  clerk. 
And  some  to  grub  down  Peter  Stubbs  his  mark, 
Or  smudge  through  some  illegible  receipt; 
Others  in  florid  cahgraphic  jilans. 
Equal  to  ships,  and  Miggy  heads,  and  swans  ! 

To  try  in  any  common  inkstands,  then. 
With  all  their  miscellaneous  stocks. 

To  find  a  decent  pen, 
AVas  like  a  dip  into  a  lucky  box  : 

You  drew,  —  and  got  one  very  curly, 
And  split  like  endive  in  some  hurh-burly ; 
The  next  unslit,  and  square  at  end,  a  sjjade  ; 
The  tliird,  incipient  j^op-gun,  not  yet  made  ; 
The  fourth  a  broom  ;  the  fifth  of  no  avail, 
I'urned  upwards,  lil^e  a  rabbit's  tail ; 
And  last,  not  least,  by  way  of  a  relief, 
A  stump  that  Master  Richard,  James  or  John, 


g^g  ODE    TO    PERRY. 

Had  tried  his  candle-cookery  upon, 
Making  "  roast-beef. " 

Not  so  thy  Perryan  Pens  ! 
True  to  their  M's  and  N's, 
They  do  not  with  a  whizzing  zig-zag  split, 
Straddle,  turn  up  their  noses,  sulk,  and  spit, 
Or  di-op  large  dots. 
Huge  full-stop  blots, 
Where  even  semicolons  were  unfit. 
They  will  not  frizzle  up,  or,  broom-like,  drudge 

In  sable  sludge  — 
Nay,  bought  at  proper  "  Patent  Perryan  "  shops, 
They  M'rite  good  grammar,  sense,  and  mind  their  stops: 
Compose  both  prose  and  verse,  the  sad  and  merry  — 
For  when  the  editor,  whose  pains  compile 
The  grown-up  Annual,  or  the  Juvenile, 
Vaunteth  his  articles,  not  women's,  men's. 
But  lays  "  by  the  most  celebrated  Pens," 
What  means  he  but  thy  Patent  Pens,  my  Perry  ? 

Pleasant  they  are  to  feel ! 
So  firm  !  so  flexible  !  composed  of  steel 
So  fuiely  tempered  —  fit  for  tenderest  Miss 

To  give  her  passion  breath, 
Or  Idngs  to  sign  the  warrant  stem  of  death  — 
But  their  supremest  merit  still  is  this, 

Write  with  them  all  your  days, 
Tragedy,  Comedy,  all  kinds  of  plays  — 
(No  dramatist  should  ever  be  without  'em)  — 

And,  just  conceive  the  bliss,  — 
There  is  so  little  of  the  goose  about  'em, 

One's  safe  from  any  hiss ! 


,  I 


ODE    TO    PERRY.  3.^9 

Ah  !  ■\vho  can  paint  that  first  great  awful  night, 

Big  with  a  blessing  or  a  bhght, 
When  the  ^Joor  dramatist,  all  fume  and  fi-et, 
Fuss,  fidget,  foncy,  fever,  funking,  fi-ight. 
Ferment,  fault-fearing,  faintness  —  more  f's  yet : 
Flushed,  frigid,  flurried,  flinching,  fitful,  fiat. 
Add  famished,  fuddled,  and  fatigued,  to  that  ; 
Funeral,  fate-foreboding  —  sits  in  doubt, 
Qr  rather  doubt  with  hojje,  a  wretched  marriage. 
To  see  his  play  upon  the  stage  come  out ; 
No  stage  to  him  !  it  is  Thalia's  carriage. 
And  he  is  sitting  on  the  spikes  behind  it. 
Striding  to  look  as  if  he  didn't  mind  it ! 

Witness  how  Beazley  vents  upon  his  hat 
His  nervousness,  meanwhile  his  flUe  is  dealt : 
He  kneads,  moulds,  pummels  it,  and  sits  it  flat, 
Squeezes  and  twists  it  up,  until  the  felt. 
That  went  a  beaver  m,  comes  out  a  rat ! 
Miss  Mitford  had  mis-givings,  and  in  fi-ight, 

Upon  Rienzi's  night 
Gnawed  up  one  long  Idd  glove,  and  all  her  bag, 

Quite  to  a  rag. 
Knowles  has  confessed  he  trembled  as  for  life, 

Afraid  of  his  own  "  Wife  ;  " 
Poole  told  me  that  he  felt  a  monstrous  jiail 
Of  water  backing  him,  all  down  his  spine,  — 
"The  ice-brook's  temper"  —  pleasant  to  the  chine  ! 
For  fear  that  Sim])son  and  his  Co.  should  fail. 
Did  Lord  Glengall  not  frame  a  mental  prayer, 
Wishing  devoutly  he  was  Lord  knows  where  ? 
Nay,  did  not  Jerrold,  in  enormous  drouth. 
While  doubtful  of  Nell  Gwynne's  eventful  luck, 

Squeeze  out  and  suck 
30 


350  ODE    TO    PERRY. 

More  oranges  Avith  his  one  fevered  mouth 
Than  Nelly  had  to  hawk  from  north  to  ^outh? 
Yea,  Buckstone,  changmg  color  like  a  niullet, 
Refused,  on  an  occasion,  once,  twice,  thrice, 
From  his  best  fi-iend,  an  ice. 
Lest  it  should  hiss  in  his  own  red-hot  gullet. 

Doth  punning  Peake  not  sit  upon  the  points 
Of  his  own  jokes,  and  shake  in  all  his  joints, 

During  their  trial  ? 

'Tis  past  denial. 
And  does  not  Pocock,  feeling,  lilce  a  ])eacock. 
All  eyes  upon  him,  turn  to  very  meaeock  ? 
And  does  not  Planche,  tremulous  and  blank, 
Meanwhile  his  personages  tread  the  boards. 

Seem  goaded  by  sharp  swords. 
And  called  upon  himself  to  "walk  the  plank"? 
As  for  the  Dances,  Charles  and  George  to  boot. 

What  have  they  more 
Of  ease  and  rest,  for  sole  of  either  foot, 
Than  bear  that  capers  on  a  hotted  floor  ! 

Thus  pending  —  does  not  Mathews,  at  sad  shift 
For  voice,  croak  like  a  frog  in  waters  fenny  ?  — 
Serle  seem  upon  the  surly  seas  adrift  ?  — 
And  Kenny  think  he's  going  to  Kilkenny  ?  — 
Haynes  Bayly  feel  Old  ditto,  with  the  note 
Of  Cotton  in  his  ear,  a  mortal  grapple 

About  his  arms,  and  Adam's  apple 
Big  as  a  fine  Dutch  codling  in  his  throat  ? 
Did  Rodwell,  on  his  chimney-piece,  desire 
Or  not  to  take  a  jump  into  the  fire  ? 
Did  Wade  feel  as  composed  as  music  can  ? 
And  was  not  Bernard  his  own  Nervous  Man  ? 
Lastly,  don't  Farley,  a  bewildered  elf, 


ODE    TO    PEKKY.  'jjl 

Quake  at  the  Pantomime  he  loves  to  cater, 
And  ere  its  changes  ring  transform  himself?  — 

A  frightful  mug  of  human  delf ! 
A  spirit-bottle  —  empty  of  "  the  cratur  "  ? 

A  leaden-platter  ready  for  the  shelf? 

A  thmiderstruck  dumb-waiter  ? 

To  clench  the  fact, 
Myself,  once  guilty  of  one  small  rash  act, 
Committed  at  the  Surrey, 
Quite  in  a  hurry. 
Felt  all  this  flurry. 
Corporal  worry. 
And  spiritual  scm-ry, 
Dram-dcAil  —  attic  ciu'ry ! 
All  going  well. 
From  prompter's  bell. 
Until  befell 
A  hissing  at  some  dull  imperfect  dance  — 

There's  no  denying 
I  felt  in  all  four  elements  at  once  ! 
My  head  was  s-Hdmming,  while  my  arms  were  fljing ! 
My  legs  for  running  —  all  the  rest  was  fi-ying  ! 

Thrice  welcome,  then,  for  this  pecuHar  use. 

Thy  pens  so  innocent  of  goose  ! 
For  this  shall  dramatists,  when  they  make  merry, 
Discarding  jjort  and  sherry, 
Drink— "Perry!" 
Perry,  whose  fame,  pennatcd,  is  let  loose 

To  distant  lands, 
Perry,  admitted  on  all  hands, 
Text,  rtiiming,  German,  Roman, 
For  Patent  Perryans  approached  by  no  man ! 
And  when,  ah  me  !  far  distant  be  the  hour ! 


352  NUMBER   ONE. 

Pluto  shall  call  thee  to  his  gloomy  bower, 
Many  shall  be  thy  pensive  mourners,  many  ! 
And  Penury  itself  shall  club  its  penny 
To  raise  thy  monument  in  lofty  place, 
Higher  than  York's  or  any  son  of  War ; 
Wliilst  time  all  meaner  effigies  shall  bury, 

On  due  pentagonal  base 
Shall  stand  the  Parian,  Perryan,  periwigged  Perry, 
Perched  on  the  proudest  peak  of  Penman  Mawr ! 


NUMBER  ONE. 

VERSIFIED    FROM    THE    PROSE    OF   A    YOUNG    LADY. 

It's  very  hard  !  — and  so  it  is,  to  live  in  such  a  row,  — 
And  witness  this  that  every  miss  but  me  has  got  a  beau. 
For  Love  goes  calling  up  and  down,  but  here  he  seems 

to  shun ; 
I'm  sure  he  has  been  asked  enough  to  call  at  Number 

One! 

I'm  sick  of  all  the  double  knocks  that  come  to  Number 

Four !  — 
That  Number  Three  I  often  see  a  lover  at  the  door  ;  — 
And  one  in  blue,  at  Number  Two,  calls  daily  like  a  dun,  — 
It's  very  hard  they  come  so  near,  and  not  to  Number 


Miss  Bell,  I  hear,  has  got  a  dear  exactly  to  her  mind,  — 
By  sitting  at  the  window-pane  without  a  bit  of  l)lind ;  — 
But  I  go  in  the  balcony,  which  she  has  never  done, 
Yet  arts  that  thrive  at  Number  Five  don't  take  at  Num- 
ber One ! 


NCMBER    OXE.  ?/,33 


Tis  hard,  with  plenty  in  the  street,  and  plenty  passing 

by,- 
There's  nice  young  men  at  Number  Ten,  but  only  rather 

shy ;  — 
And  Mrs.  Smith  across  the  way  has  got  a  grown-up  son, 
But,  la  !  he  hardly  seems  to  know  there  is  a  Number 

One! 

There's  Mr.  Wick  at  Number  Nme,  but  he's  intent  on 

pelf, 
And  though  he's  pious  will  not  love  his  neighbor  as  him- 

seU:  — 
At  Number  Seven  there  was  a  sale— the   goods  had 

quite  a  run ! 
And  here  I've  got  my  single  lot  on  hand  at  Number  One ! 

My  mother  often  sits  at  work  and  talks  of  props  and 

stays, 
And  what  a  comfort  I  shall  be  in  her  declining  days :  — 
The  very  maids  about  the  house  have  set  me  down  a  nun, 
The  sweethearts  all  belong  to  them  that  call  at  Number 

One! 

Once  only  when  the  flue  took  fire,  one  Friday  afternoon, 
Young  Mr.  Long  came  kindly  in  and  told  mc  not  to 

swoon : 
Why  can't  he  come  again  without  the  Phoenix  and  the 

Sun? 
We  cannot  always  have  a  flue  on  fire  at  Number  One ! 

I  am  not  old,  I  am  not  plain,  nor  awkward  in  my  gait  — 
I  am  not  crooked,  hke  the  bride  that  went  from  Number 

Eight :  — 
I'm  sure  white  satin  made  her  look  as  brown  as  any  bun  — 
But  e\on  beauty  has  no  chance,  I  think,  at  Number  One  ! 
30* 


354:  LINES    ON    THE    CELEBRATION    OF   PEACE. 

At  Number  Six  they  say  Miss  Rose  has  slain  n  score  of 

hearts, 
And  Cupid,  for  her  sake,  has  been  quite  prodigal  of  darts. 
The  imj)  they  show  with  bended  bow,  I  wish  he  had  a 

gun  ! 
But  if  he  had,  he'd  never  deign  to  shoot  with  Number 

One. 

It's  very  hard,  and  so  it  is,  to  live  in  such  a  row ! 

And  here's  a  ballad-singer  come  to  aggravate  my  woe  ;  — 

O,  take  away  your  foolish  song  and  tones  enough  to 
stun  — 

There  is  "  Nae  luck  about  the  house,"  I  know,  at  Num- 
ber One ! 


LINES   ON   THE   CELEBRATION  OF  PEACE. 

BY    DORCAS    DOVE. 

And  is  it  thus  ye  welcome  Peace, 

From  mouths  of  forty-pounding  Bores  ? 

O,  cease,  exploding  Cannons,  cease! 

Lest  Peace,  affrighted,  shun  our  shores  ! 

Not  so  the  quiet  Queen  should  come ; 

But  like  a  Nurse  to  still  our  Fears, 
With  shoes  of  List,  demurely  dumb, 

And  Wool  or  Cotton  in  her  Ears  ! 

She  asks  for  no  triumphal  Arch; 

No  Steeples  for  their  ropy  Tongues  ; 
Down,  Drumsticks,  down  !    She  needs  no  March, 

Or  blasted  Trumps  from  brazen  Lungs. 

She  wants  no  Noise  of  mobbing  Throats 
To  tell  that  She  is  drawing  nigh  : 


THE    DEMON-SHIP. 

Why  this  Parade  of  scarlet  Coats, 

When  AVar  has  closed  his  bloodshot  Eye  ? 

Returning  to  Domestic  Loves, 

When  War  has  ceased  "s^ith  all  its  Ills, 

Captains  should  come  like  sucking  Doves, 
With  Olive  Branches  in  then-  Bills. 

No  need  there  is  of  \-ulgar  Shout, 

Bells,  Cannons,  Trumpets,  Fife  and  Drum, 

And  Soldiers  marching  all  about, 
To  let  Us  know  that  Peace  is  come. 

O,  mild  should  be  the  Signs,  and  meek, 
Sweet  Peace's  Advent  to  proclaim  ! 

Silence  her  noiseless  Foot  should  speak, 
And  Echo  should  repeat  the  same. 

Lo !  where  the  Soldier  walks,  alas  ! 

With  Scars  received  on  foreign  Grounds  ; 
Shall  we  consume  in  colored  Glass 

The  Oil  that  should  be  poured  in  Wounds  ? 

The  bleeding  Gaps  of  War  to  close, 
Will  wliizzing  Rocket-Flight  avail  ? 

Will  Squibs  enliven  Orphans'  Woes  ? 
Or  Crackers  cheer  the  Widow's  Tale  ? 


355 


THE   DEMON-SHIP.  » 

Tft'AS  off  the  Wash  —  the  sun  went  down  —  the  sea 

looked  black  and  grim, 
For  stormy  clouds  with  murky  fleece  were  mustering  at 

the  brim ; 
Titanic  sliades  !  enormous  gloom !  —  as  if  the  solid  night 
Of  Erebus  rose  suddenly  to  seize  upon  the  hght ! 


I 

356  THE    DEMON-SHIP. 

It  was  a  time  for  mariners  to  bear  a  ■wary  eye, 

With  such  a  dark  conspu'acy  between  the  sea  and  sky ! 

Down  went  my  helm  —  close  reefed  —  the   tack  held 

froel}-  in  mj-  hand  — 
With  ballast  snug  —  I  put  about,  and  scudded  for  the 

land. 
Loud  hissed  the  sea  beneath  her  lee ;  my  little  boat  flew 

fast. 
But  faster  still  the  mshing  storm  came  borne  upon  the 

blast. 
Lord !  what  a  roaring  hurricane  beset  the  straining  sail ! 
What  fiu-ious  sleet,  with  level  drift,  and  fierce  assaults 

of  hail ! 
What  darksome  caverns  yawned  before  !   what  jagged 

steeps  behind ! 
Like  battle-steeds,  with  foamy  manes,  wild  tos.sing  in  the 

wind. 
Each  after  each  sank  down  astern,  exhausted  in  the  chase. 
But  where  it  sank  another  rose  and  galloped  in  its  place  ; 
As  black  as  night  —  they  turned  to  white,  and  cast  against 

the  cloud 
A  snowy   sheet,  as  if  each  surge   upturned   a   sailor's 

shroud  : 
Still  flew  mj-  boat ;  alas  !  alas  !  her  course  was  nearly 

run  ! 
Behold  yon  fatal  billoM'  rise  —  ten  billows  heaped  in  one  ! 
With  fearful  speed  the  dreary  mass  came  rolling,  rolHng 

fast. 
As  if  the  scooping  sea  contained  only  one  wave,  at  last ! 
Still  on  it  came,  with  horrid  roar,  a  swift-pursuing  grave ! 
It  seemed  as  though  some  cloud  had  turned  its  hugeness 

to  a  wave ! 
Its  briny  sleet  began  to  beat  beforehand  in  my  face  — 
I  felt  the  rearward  keel  begin  to  climb  its  swelling  base ! 


THE    DEMON-SHIP.  357 

I  saw  its  Alpine  hoary  head  impending  over  mine  ! 

Another  pulse,  and  down  it  rushed,  an  avalanche  of 
brine  ! 

Brief  pause  had  I,  on  God  to  cry,  or  think  of  wife  and 
home ; 

The  waters  closed  —  and  when  I  shrieked,  I  shrieked  be- 
low the  foam  ! 

Beyond  that  rush  I  have  no  hint  of  any  after  deed  — 

For  I  was  tossing  on  the  waste,  as  senseless  as  a  weed. 

"  WTiere  am  I  ?  in  the  breathing  world,  or  in  the  world 

of  death  ?  " 
With  sharp  and  sudden  pang  I  di-ew  another  birth  of 

breath ; 
My  eyes  drank  in  a  doubtful  light,  my  ears  a  doubtfid 

sound, 
And  was  that  ship  a  real  ship  whose  tackle  seemed 

around  ? 

A  moon,  as  if  the  earthly  moon,  was  shining  up  aloft ; 
But  were  those  beams  the  very  beams  that  I  had  seen 

so  oft  ? 
A  face  that  mocked  the  human-  face  before  me  watched 

alone  ; 
But  were  those  eyes  the  eyes  of  man  that  looked  against 

my  own  ? 

O !  never  may  the  moon  again  disclose  me  such  a  sight 

As  met  my  gaze,  when  fu'st  I  looked  on  that  accursed 
niijht  I 

r\e  seen  a  thousand  horrid  shapes  begot  of  fierce  ex- 
tremes 

Of  fever  ;  and  most  fiightful  things  have  haunted  in  my 
dreams  — 


358  THE    DEMON-SHIP. 

Hyenas,  cats,  blood-lo^^ng  bats,  and  apes  with  hateful 
stare, 

Pernicious  snakes,  and  shaggy  bulls,  the  lion  and  she- 
bear. 

Strong  enemies,  with  Judas  looks,  of  treachery  and 
spite  — 

Detested  featm-es,  hardly  dimmed  and  banished  by  the 
light ! 

Pale-sheeted  ghosts,  with  gory  locks,  upstarting  from  their 

tombs  — 
All  fantasies  and  images  that  flit  in  midnight  glooms  — 
Hags,   goblins,   demons,   lemm-es,    have   made   me   all 

aghast,  — 
But  nothing  like  that  Gkimly  One  who  stood  beside  the 

mast! 

His  cheek  was  black  —  hi^  brow  was  black  —  his  eyes 
and  hair  as  dark  : 

His  hand  was  black,  and  where  it  touched  it  left  a  sable 
mark ; 

His  throat  was  black,  his  vest  the  same ;  and  when  I 
looked  beneath, 

His  breast  was  black  —  all,  all  was  black,  except  his  grin- 
ning teeth. 

His  sooty  crew  were  like  in  hue,  as  black  as  Afric  slaves ! 

O,  horror !  e'en  the  ship  was  black  that  ploughed  the 
inky  waves ! 

"  Alas !  "  I  cried,  "  for  love  of  truth  and  blessed  mercy's 

sake. 
Where-  am  I  ?  in  what  dreadful  ship  ?  upon  what  di-ead- 

fullake? 
What  shape  is  that,  so  very  grim,  and  black  as  any  coal  ? 
It  is  Mahound,  the  Evil  One,  and  he  has  gained  my  soul ! 


3PEIXG.  3U» 

O,  mother  dear  1  my  tender  nurse !  deai-  meadows  that 

beguiled 
My  happy  days,  -when  I  was  yet  a  httle  sinless  chUd,  — 
My  mother  dear — my  native  fields,  I  never  more  sliall  see: 
I'm  sailing  in  the  Devil's  Ship,  upon  the  De\il's  Sea ! " 

Loud  laughed  that  Sable  Mariner,  and  loudly  in  return 
His  sooty  crew  sent  forth  a  laugh  that  rang  fi"om  stem 

to  stem  — 
A  dozen  pair  of  grimly  cheeks  were  crumpled  on  the 

nonce  — 
As  many  sets  of  grinning  teeth  came  shining  out  at  once ; 
A  dozen  gloomy  shapes  at  once  enjoyed  the  meny  fit, 
With  shriek  and  yell,  and  oaths  as  well,  lilvC  demons  of 

the  Pit 
They  crowed  their  fill,  and  then  the  Chief  made  answer 

for  the  whole ;  — 
"  Our  sldns,"  said  he,  "  are  black,  ye  see,  because  we 

carry  coal ; 
You'll  find  your  mother  sure  enough,  and  see  your  native 

fields  — 
For  this  here  ship  has  picked  you  up,  the  Mary  Ann  of 

Shields  I " 


SPRIXG. 


A    NEW   VEESION. 


"Bam.  The  air  bites  shrewdly  —  it  is  very  eold. 
Ilor.  It  is  a  nipping  and  an  eager  air."  —  IIamiet. 

"Come,  gentle  Spring  !  ethereal  mildness,  comei" 
O !  Thomson,  void  of  rhyme  as  well  as  reason. 

How  couldst  thou  thus  poor  human  nature  hum? 
There's  no  such  season- 


360  SPRING. 

The  Spring  !  I  shrink  and  shudder  at  lier  name  ! 

For  why,  I  find  her  breath  a  bitter  blighter ! 
And  suffer  from  her  blows  as  if  they  came 

From  Spring  the  Fighter. 

Her  praises,  tlien,  let  hardy  poets  sing, 

And  be  her  tuneful  laureates  and  upholders. 

Who  do  not  feel  as  if  they  had  a  Spring 
Poured  down  then-  shoulders. 

Let  others  eulogize  her  floral  shows  ; 

From  me  they  cannot  win  a  single  stanza. 
I  know  her  blooms  are  in  full  blow  —  and  so's 

The  Influenza. 

Her  cowslips,  stocks,  and  lilies  of  the  vale. 

Her  honey-blossoms  that  you  hear  the  bees  at. 

Her  pansit's,  daffodils,  and  primrose  pale, 
Are  thinss  I  sneeze  at ! 


'O" 


Fair  is  the  Tornal  quarter  of  the  year  I 

And  fair  its  early  buddings  and  its  blowings  ■ 
But  just  suppose  Consumption's  seeds  appear 


With  other  sowings  L 


For  me,  I  find,  when  eastern  winds  are  high, 
A  frigid,  not  a  genial  inspiration  ; 

Nor  can,  like  L-on-Chested  Chubb,  defy 
An  inflammation. 

Smitten  by  breezes  from  the  land  of  plague^ 
To  me  all  vernal  luxuries  are  fables ; 

O  !  whore's  the  Spring  in  a  rheumatic  leg. 
Stiff  as  a  table's  ? 


FAITHLESS    NELLY    GKAY.  361 

I  limp  in  agony,  —  I  wheeze  and  cough, 
And  quake  with  Ague,  that  great  Agitator ; 

Nor  dream,  before  July,  of  leading  off 
My  Respiratoi-. 

What  wonder  if  in  May  itself  I  lack 

A  peg  for  laudatory  verse  to  hang  on  ?  — 

Spring  mild  and  gentle  !  —  yes,  a  Spring-heeled  Jack 
To  those  he  sjjrang  on. 

In  short,  whatever  panegyrics  lie 

In  fidsome  odes  too  many  to  be  cited, 
The  tenderness  of  Spring  is  all  my  eye, 

And  that  is  blighted  ! 


FAITHLESS   NELLY   GRAY. 

A   PATHETIC    BALLAD. 

Bex  Battle  was  a  soldier  bold, 
And  used  to  war's  alarms  ; 

But  a  cannon-ball  took  off  his  legs, 
So  he  laid  down  his  arms  ! 

Now,  as  they  boi-e  him  off  the  field, 
Said  he,  "  Let  others  shoot. 

For  here  I  leave  my  second  leg. 
And  the  Forty-second  Foot ! " 

The  army-surgeons  made  him  limbs : 
Said  he,  "  They're  only  pegs  : 

But  there's  as  wooden  members  quite 
As  represent  my  legs  !  " 
31 


362  FAITHLESS    NELLY    GRAY. 

Now,  Ben  he  loved  a  pretty  maid, 
Her  name  Avas  Nelly  Gray ; 

So  he  went  to  pay  her  his  devours, 
When  he  devoured  his  pay ! 

But  when  he  called  on  Nelly  Gray, 
She  made  him  quite  a  scoff; 

And  when  she  saw  his  wooden  legs, 
Began  to  take  them  oflF! 

«  O,  Nelly  Gray .!  O,  Nelly  Gray ! 

Is  this  your  love  so  warm  ? 
The  love  that  loves  a  scarlet  coat 

Should  be  more  uniform  !  " 

Said  she,  "  I  loved  a  soldier  once. 
For  he  was  blithe  and  brave ; 

But  I  will  never  have  a  man 
With  both  legs  in  the  grave ! 

"  Before  you  had  those  timber  toes, 

Your  love  I  did  allow, 
But  then,  you  know,  you  stand  upon 

Another  footing  now !  " 


'o 


"  O,  Nelly  Gray !  O,  Nelly  Gray ! 

For  all  your  jeering  speeches. 
At  duty's  call  I  left  my  legs 

In  Badajos's  breaches .' " 

"  Why  then,"  said  she,  "  you've  lost  the  feet 

Of  legs  in  war's  alarms. 
And  now  you  cannot  wear  your  shoes 

Upon  your  feats  of  arms !  " 


FAITHLESS    NELLY    GRAY.  363 

"  O,  false  and  fickle  Xelly  Gray ! 

I  know  why  you  refuse  :  — 
Though  I've  no  feet  —  some  other  man 

Is  standing  in  my  shoes  ! 

"  I  wish  I  ne'er  had  seen  your  face  ; 

But,  now,  a  long  farewell ! 
For  you  will  be  my  death  ;  —  alas, 

You  will  not  be  my  Nell  1 " 

Now,  when  he  went  from  Nelly  Gray, 

His  heart  so  heavy  got. 
And  life  Avas  such  a  burthen  gi'own, 

It  made  him  take  a  knot ! 

So  round  his  melancholy  neck 

A  rope  he  did  entwine, 
And,  for  his  second  time  in  life, 

Enlisted  in  the  Line  ! 

One  end  he  tied  around  a  beam, 

And  then  removed  his  pegs, 
And,  as  his  legs  wei'e  off —  of  course 

He  soon  was  off  his  legs  ! 

And  there  he  hung,  till  he  was  dead 

As  any  nail  in  town,  — 
For,  though  distress  had  cut  him  up, 

It  could  not  cut  liini  down ! 

A  dozen  men  sat  on  his  corpse, 

To  find  out  why  he  died  — 
And  they  buried  Ben  in  four  cross-roads, 

AVith  a  stake  in  his  inside ! 


364  THE    FLOWER. THE    SEA-SPELL. 


THE  FLOWER. 

Alone,  across  a  foreign  plain, 

The  exile  slowly  wanders, 
And  on  his  isle  beyond  the  main 

With  saddened  spirit  ponders ; 

This  lovely  isle  beyond  the  sea, 
With  all  its  household  treasures  ; 

Its  cottage  homes,  its  merry  birds. 
And  all  its  rural  pleasures  ; 

Its  leafy  woods,  its  shady  vales, 
Its  moors,  and  purple  heather ; 

Its  verdant  fields  bedecked  with  stars 
His  childhood  loved  to  gather ; 

When,  lo  !  he  starts  with  glad  surprise, 
Home-joys  come  rushing  o'er  him. 

For  "  modest,  wee,  and  crimson-tipped," 
He  spies  the  flower  before  him ! 

With  eager  haste  he  stoops  him  down, 
His  eyes  with  moisture  hazy, 

And  as  he  plucks  the  simple  bloom, 
He  murmui-s,  "  Lawk-a-daisy  ! " 


THE   SEA-SPELL. 

"  Oxuld,  cauld,  he  lies  beneath  the  deep."  —  Old  Scotch  BaUad. 

It  was  a  jolly  mariner  ! 
The  tallest  man  of  three,  — 
He  loosed  his  sail  against  the  wind, 
And  tm-ned  his  boat  to  sea : 


THE    SEA-SPELL.  365 

The  ink-black  sky  told  every  eye 
A  storm  was  soon  to  be  ! 

But  still  that  jolly  mariner 

Took  in  no  reef  at  all, 

For,  in  his  pouch,  confidingly, 

He  wore  a  baby's  caul ; 

A  thing,  as  gossip-nurses  know, 

That  always  brings  a  squall ! 

His  hat  was  new,  or,  newly  glazed. 
Shone  brightly  in  the  sun ; 
His  jacket,  lilve  a  mariner's. 
True  blue  as  e'er  was  spun  ; 
His  ample  trousers,  like  St.  Paul, 
Bore  forty  stripes  save  one. 

And  now  the  fretting,  foaming  tide 

He  steered  away  to  cross ; 

The  bounding  pinnace  played  a  game 

Of  dreary  jntch  and  toss  ; 

A  game  that,  on  the  good  dry  land, 

Is  apt  to  bring  a  loss ! 

Good  Heaven  befriend  that  little  boat. 

And  guide  her  on  her  way  ! 

A  boat,  they  say,  has  canvas  wings. 

But  cannot  fly  away  ! 

Though,  like  a  merry  singing-bird. 

She  sits  upon  the  spray ! 

Still  south  by  east  the  little  boat, 
With  tawny  sail,  kept  beating  : 
Now  out  of  sight,  between  two  waves. 
Now  o'er  the  horizon  fleeting  ; 
31* 


366  THE    SEA-SPELL. 

Like  greedy  swine  that  feed  on  mast,  — 
The  waves  her  mast  seemed  eating ! 

The  sullen  sky  grew  black  above, 

The  wave  as  black  beneath ; 

Each  roaring  billow  showed  full  soon 

A  white  and  foamy  wreath  ; 

Like  angry  dogs  that  snarl  at  first, 

And  then  display  their  teeth. 

The  boatman  looked  against  the  wind, 

The  mast  began  to  creak, 

The  wave,  per  saltum,  came  and  dried, 

Li  salt,  upon  his  cheek  ! 

The  pointed  wave  against  him  reared, 

A^Lf  it  owned  a  pique  ! 

Nor  ruslaing  wind  nor  gushing  wave 

The  boatman  could  alarm. 

But  still  he  stood  away  to  sea, 

And  trusted  in  his  charm  ; 

He  thought  bj-  piu'chase  he  was  safe, 

And  armed  against  all  harm  ! 

Now  thick  and  fast  and  far  aslant 
The  stormy  rain  came  pom-ing, 
He  heard,  upon  the  sandy  bank, 
The  distant  breakers  roaring,  — 
A  groaning  intermitting  sound. 
Like  Gog  and  Magog  snoring  ! 

The  sea-fowl  shrieked  around  the  mast. 

Ahead  the  grampus  tumbled, 

And  far  off,  fi-om  a  copper  cloud. 

The  hollow  thunder  rumbled  ; 

It  would  have  quailed  another  heart, 

But  his  was  never  humbled. 


THE    SEA.-SPELL.  367 

For  why?  he  had  that  mfant's  caul; 
And  wherefore  should  he  dread  ? 
Alas !  alas !  he  little  thought, 
Before  the  ebb-tide  sped, — 
That,  like  that  infant,  he  should  die, 
And  -nith  a  watery  head ! 

The  rushing  brine  flowed  in  apace ; 

His  boat  had  ne'er  a  deck  : 

Fate  seemed  to  call  him  on,  and  he 

Attended  to  her  beck  ; 

And  so  he  went,  still  trusting  on, 

Though  reckless  —  to  his  wreck ! 

For  as  he  left  his  helm,  to  heave 

The  ballast-bags  a-weather, 

Thi-ee  monstrous  seas  came  roaring  on, 

Like  lions  leagued  together. 

The  two  first  waves  the  little  boat 

Swam  over  lilie  a  feather, — 

The  two  first  waves  were  past  and  gone. 

And  sinking  in  her  wake  ; 

The  hugest  still  came  leaping  on, 

And  hissing  like  a  snake. 

Now  helm  a-lee  !  for  through  the  midst 

The  monster  he  must  take  ! 

Ah,  me  !  it  was  a  cb'eary  mount ! 

Its  base  as  black  as  night. 

Its  top  of  pale  and  livid  green. 

Its  crest  of  awful  white. 

Like  Neptune  with  a  leprosy,  — 

And  so  it  reared  upright ! 


368  THE    SEA-SPELL. 

With  quaking  sails  the  little  boat 
Climbed  up  the  foaming  heap, 
With  qualdng  sails  it  paused  a  •while, 
At  balance  on  the  steep  ; 
Then,  rushing  down  the  nether  slope, 
Plunged  with  a  dizzy  sweep  ! 

Look,  how  a  horse,  made  mad  with  fear. 

Disdains  his  careful  giude  ; 

So  now  the  headlong,  headstrong  boat, 

Unmanaged,  turns  aside. 

And  straight  presents  her  reeling  flank 

Agamst  the  swelling  tide ! 

The  gusty  -wind  assaults  the  sail ; 
Her  ballast  lies  a-lee  ! 
The  sheet's  to  windward  taut  and  stiff, 
O  !  the  Lively  —  where  is  she  ? 
Her  capsized  keel  is  in  the  foam, 
Her  pennon's  in  the  sea  ! 

The  wild  gull,  sailing  overhead. 
Three  times  beheld  emerge 
The  head  of  that  bold  mariner. 
And  then  she  screamed  his  dirge! 
For  he  had  sunk  within  his  grave, 
Lapped  in  a  shroud  of  surge  ! 

The  ensuing  wave,  with  horrid  foam. 
Rushed  o'er  and  covered  all ; 
The  jolly  boatman's  drowning  scream 
Was  smothered  by  the  squall. 
Heaven  never  heard  his  cry,  nor  did 
The  ocean  heed  his  caul. 


A    SAILOll's    APOLOGY    POll    TOW-LEGS.  369 


A  SAILOR'S  APOLOGY   FOR  BOW-LEGS. 

There's  some  is  l^orn  ^nth  their  straight  legs  by  natur, 
And  some  is  born  with  bow-iegs  from  the  first  — 
And   some   that   should    have    growed    a    good    deal 
straight  er, 

But  they  were  badly  nm'sed, 
And  set,  you  see,  like  Bacchus,  with  their  pegs 

Astride  of  casks  and  kegs  : 
I've  got  myself  a  sort  of  bow  to  larboard, 

And  starboard. 
And  this  is  what  it  was  that  warped  my  legs.  — 

'TwLis  all  along  of  Poll,  as  I  may  say. 
That  fouled  my  cable  when  I  ought  to  slip  ; 
But  on  the  tenth  of  May, 
When  I  gets  under  weigh, 
Down  there  in  Hartfordsliire,  to  join  my  ship, 

I  sees  the  mail 

Get  under  sail, 
The  only  one  there  was  to  make  the  trip. 

Well  —  I  gives  chase. 

But  as  she  run 

Two  knots  to  one, 
There  warn't  no  use  in  keeping  on  the  race ! 

Well  —  easting  round  about,  what  next  to  try  on, 

And  how  to  spin, 
I  spies  an  ensign  with  a  Bloody  Lion, 
And  bears  away  to  leeward  for  the  inn. 

Beats  round  the  gable. 
And  fetches  up  before  the  coach-horse  stable : 
Well  —  there  they  stand,  four  kickers  in  a  row, 

And  so 
I  just  makes  free  to  cut  a  brown  'un's  cable- 
But  riding  isn't  in  a  seaman's  natur  — 


370  A  sailor's  apology  foe  bow-legs. 

So  I  whips  out  a  toughish  end  of  yarn, 
And  gets  a  kind  of  sort  of  a  land-waiter 

To  splice  me,  heel  to  heel, 

Under  the  she-mare's  keel, 
And  off  I  goes,  and  leaves  the  inn  a-starn  ! 

My  eyes  !  how  she  did  pitch  ! 
And  wouldn't  keep  her  own  to  go  in  no  line, 
Though  I  kept  bowsing,  bowsing  at  her  bowline. 
But  always  making  lee-way  to  the  ditch, 
And  yawed  her  head  about  all  sorts  of  ways. 

The  devil  sink  the  craft ! 
And  wasn't  she  trimendous  slack  in  stays  ! 
We  couldn't,  nohow,  keep  the  inn  abaft ! 

Well  —  I  suppose 
We  hadn't  run  a  knot  —  or  much  beyond  — 
(What  will  you  have  on  it  ?)  — but  off  she  goes. 
Up  to  her  bends  in  a  fresh-water  pond ! 

There  I  am  !  —  all  a-back  I 
So  I  looks  forward  for  her  bridle-gears. 
To  heave  her  head  round  on  the  t'other  tack ; 

But  when  I  starts, 

The  leather  parts, 
And  goes  away  right  over  by  the  ears  I 

What  could  a  fellow  do, 
Whose  legs,  like  mine,  you  know,  were  in  the  bilboes. 
But  trim  myself  upright  for  bringing-to, 
And  square  his  yard-arms,  and  lirace  up  his  elbows. 

In  rig  all  snug  and  clever, 
Just  while  his  craft  was  taking  in  her  water  ? 
I  didn't  like  my  berth,  though,  howsomde^'er, 
Because  the  yam,  you  see,  kept  getting  tauter,  — ■ 
Says  I  —  I  wish  this  job  w^s  rather  shorter  ! 

The  chase  had  gained  a  mile 
Ahead,  and  still  the  she-mai-e  stood  a-drinking : 


THE    EACIIEt.OIl's    DREAM.  371 

Now,  all  the  while 
Her  Ijody  didn't  take  of  course  to  shrinking. 
Says  I,  she's  letting  out  her  reefs,  I'm  thinking  — 

And  so  she  swelled,  and  swelled, 

And  yet  the  tackle  held, 
Till  both  my  legs  began  to  bend  lilve  winkin.     - 

i\Iy  eyes  !  but  she  took  in  enough  to  founder ! 
And  there's  my  timbers  straining  every  bit, 

Ready  to  split, 
And  her  tarnation  hull  a-gi'owing  rounder ! 

Well,  there  —  off  Hartford  Xess, 
"We  lay  both  lashed  and  water-logged  together, 

And  can't  contrive  a  signal  of  distress  ; 
Thinks  I,  we  must  ride  out  this  here  foul  weather, 
Though  sick  of  riding  out  —  and  nothing  less  ; 
When,  looking  round,  I  sees  a  man  a-slarn  :  — 
Hollo  !  says  I,  come  underneath  her  quarter  !  — 
And  hands  him  out  my  knife  to  cut  the  yarn. 
So  I  gets  off,  and  lands  upon  the  road. 
And  leaves  the  she-mare  to  her  own  consani, 

A-standing  by  the  water. 
If  I  get  on  another,  I'll  be  blowed !  — 
And  that's  the  way,  you  see,  my  legs  got  bowed ! 


THE  BACIIELOR'S  DREx\M. 

My  pipe  is  lit,  my  grog  is  mixed. 

My  curtains  drawn  and  all  is  snug ; 

Old  Puss  is  in  her  elbow-chair. 

And  Tray  is  sittmg  on  the  rug. 

Last  night  I  had  a  curious  dream. 

Miss  Susan  Bates  was  Mistress  Mogg  — 


372  ■^'^'^■-  bachelor's  drsam. 

What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  cat  ? 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  dog  ? 

She  lools.ed  so  fair,  she  sang  so  well, 
I  could  but  woo  and  she  was  won ; 
Myself  in  blue,  the  bride  in  white, 
The  ring  was  placed,  the  deed  ^^•as  done ! 
^way  we  went  in  chaise-and-lour, 
As  fast  as  grinning  boys  could  flog  — 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  nij'  cat  ? 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  dog  I 


.  3 


AVhat  loving  tete-a-tctes  to  come  ! 
But  tete-a-teles  must  still  defer ! 
When  Susan  came  to  live  with  me, 
Her  mother  came  to  live  with  her ! 
With  sister  Belle  she  couldn't  part, 
But  all  my  ties  had  leave  to  jog  — 
What  d"}e  think  of  that,  my  cat  ? 
What  dye  think  of  that,  my  dog  ? 

The  mother  brought  a  pretty  Poll  — 
A  monkey  too,  M'hat  work  he  made  ! 
The  sister  introduced  a  beau  — 
My  Susan  brought  a  favorite  maid. 
She  had  a  tabby  of  her  own,  — 
A  snappish  mongrel  christened  Gog,  — 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  mj-  cat  ? 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  dog  ? 

The  monkey  bit  —  the  parrot  screamed, 
All  day  the  sister  strummed  and  sung  ; 
The  petted  maid  was  such  a  scold  ! 
My  Susan  learned  to  use  her  tongue ; 
Her  mother  had  such  wretched  health, 


THE    bachelor's    DREAM.  373 

She  sate  and  croaked  like  any  frog  — 
"What  d')'e  thinli  of  that,  my  cat  ? 
What  d'ye  thuili  of  that,  my  dog  ? 

No  longer  Deary,  Duck,  and  Love, 
I  soon  came  down  to  simple  "  M !  " 
The  very  servants  crossed  my  wish, 
My  Susan  let  me  down  to  them. 
The  poker  hardly  seemed  my  own, 
I  might  as  well  have  been  a  log  — 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  cat  ? 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  dog  ? 

My  clothes  they  were  the  queerest  shape ! 
Such  coats  and  hats  she  never  met ! 
My  ways  they  were  the  oddest  ways  ! 
My  friends  were  such  a  vulgar  set ! 
Poor  Tomkinson  was  snubbed  and  huffed, 
She  could  not  bear  that  iNIister  Blogg  — 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  cat  ? 
What  d've  think  of  that ,  mv  dog  ? 


■'ft 


At  times  we  had  a  spar,  and  then 
Mamma  must  mingle  in  the  song  — 
The  sister  took  a  sister's  part  — 
The  maid  declared  her  master  v.'rong  — 
The  parrot  learned  to  call  me  "  Fool !  " 
My  life  was  like  a  London  fog  — 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  cat  ? 
AVliat  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  dog  ? 

My  Susan's  taste  was  superfine, 
As  proved  by  bills  that  had  no  end ; 
/  never  had  a  decent  coat  — 
I  never  had  a  coin  to  spend ! 
She  forced  me  to  resign  my  club, 
32 


374  ''^^'^    "^^'^^    MAN. 

Lay  down  my  pipe,  retrench  my  grog  ■ 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  cat  ? 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  dog  ? 

Each  Sunday  night  we  gave  a  rout 
To  fops  and  flirts,  a  pretty  hst ; 
And  when  I  tried  to  steal  aw'ay, 
I  found  my  study  full  of  whist ! 
Then,  fu'st  to  come,  and  last  to  go, 
There  always  was  a  Ca2)tain  Hogg  — 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  cat  ? 
What  d'ye  think  of  that,  my  dog  ? 

Now  was  not  that  an  awful  dream 
For  one  Avho  single  is  and  snug  — 
With  Pussy  in  the  elbow-chair, 
And  Tray  reposing  on  the  rug  ?  — 
If  I  must  totter  down  the  hill, 
'Tis  safest  done  without  a  clog  — 
What  d'ye  tliink  of  that,  my  cat  ? 
What  d'ye  tliink  of  that,  my  dog  ? 


THE  WEE  MAN. 

A    ROMANCE. 

It  was  a  merry  company, 
And  they  were  just  afloat. 

When,  lo  !  a  man,  of  dwarfish  span, 
Came  up  and  hailed  the  boat. 

"  Good-morrow  to  ye,  gentle  folks, 
And  will  you  let  me  in  ?  — 

A  slender  space  will  serve  my  case, 
For  I  am  small  and  thin." 


THE    "SVEE    MAN.  375 

They  saw  he  was  a  dwarfish  mail, 

And  very  small  and  thin ; 
Not  seven  such  would  matter  much, 

And  so  they  took  him  in. 

They  laughed  to  see  his  little  hat, 

With  such  a  narrow  brim  ; 
They  laughed  to  note  his  dapper  coat, 

With  skirts  so  scant  and  trim. 

But  barely  had  they  gone  a  mile. 

When,  gravely,  one  and  all 
At  once  began  to  thinlc  the  man 

Was  not  so  very  small. 

His  coat  had  got  a  broader  skirt, 

His  hat  a  broader  brim, 
His  leg  gi'ew  stout,  and  soon  plumped  out 

A  very  proper  limb. 

Still  on  they  went,  and  as  they  went, 

More  rough  the  billows  grew,  — 
And  rose  and  fell,  a  greater  swell, 

And  he  was  swelling  too  ! 

And,  lo !  where  room  had  been  for  seven, 

For  six  there  scarce  was  space ! 
For  five  ! — for  four !  —  for  three  !  —  not  more 

Than  two  could  find  a  place  ! 

There  was  not  even  room  for  one ! 

They  crowded  by  degrees  — 
Ay  —  closer  yet,  till  elbows  met, 

And  knees  were  jogging  knees. 


376  death's  ramble. 

"  Good  sii-f  you  must  not  sit  astern, 
The  wave  will  else  come  in  !  " 

Without  a  word  he  gravely  stirred, 
Another  seat  to  win. 

"  Good  sii",  the  boat  has  lost  her  trim. 
You  must  not  sit  a-lee  !  " 


With  smihnsr  face  and  courteous 


'o 


The  middle  seat  took  he. 


grace. 


But  still,  by  constant  quiet  growth. 

His  back  became  so  wide, 
Each  neighbor  wight,  to  left  and  right. 

Was  thrust  against  the  side. 


■^b^ 


Lord!  how  they  chided  with  themselves, 

That  they  had  let  him  in  ! 
To  see  him  gi-ow  so  monstrous  now, 

That  came  so  small  and  thin. 

On  every  brow  a  dew-drop  stood, 
They  grew  so  scared  and  hot,  — 

"  I'  the  name  of  all  that's  great  and  tall. 
Who  are  ye,  sir,  and  what  ?  " 

Loud  laughed  the  Gogmagog,  a  laugh 

As  loud  as  giant's  roar  — 
"  When  first  I  came,  my  proper  name 

Was  Little  —  now  I'm  Moore ! " 


DEATH'S   RAMBLE. 

One  day  the  dreary  old  King  of  Death 
Inclined  for  some  sport  with  the  carnal, 

So  he  tied  a  pack  of  darts  on  liis  back, 
And  quietly  stole  from  his  charnel. 


death's  ramble.  377 

His  head  was  bald  of  flesh  and  of  hair, 

His  body  Avas  lean  and  lank ; 
His  joints  at  each  stir  made  a  crack,  and  the  cur 

Took  a  gnaw,  by  the  way,  at  his  shank. 

And  what  did  he  do  with  Ins  deadly  >darts. 

This  goblin  of  grisly  bone  ? 
He  dabbled  and  spilled  man's  blood,  and  he  killed 

Like  a  butcher  that  kills  his  own. 

The  first  he  slaughtered  it  made  him  laugh, 

(For  the  man  was  a  coffin-maker,) 
To  think  how  the  mutes,  and  men  in  black  suits, 

Would  mourn  for  an  undertaker. 

Death  saw  two  Quakers  sitting  at  church  ; 

Quoth  he,  "  We  shall  not  cUffer." 
And  he  let  them  alone,  like  figures  of  stone, 

For  he  could  not  mal^e  them  stifier. 

He  saw  two  dueUists  going  to  fight, 

In  fear  they  could  not  smother ; 
And  he  shot  one  through  at  once  —  for  he  knew 

They  never  would  shoot  each  other. 

He  saw  a  watchman  fast  in  his  box. 

And  he  gave  a  snore  infernal ; 
Said  Death,  "  He  may  keep  his  breath,  for  his  sleep 

Can  never  be  more  eternal." 

He  met  a  coachman  driving  a  coach 

So  slow  that  liis  fare  grew  sick  ; 
But  he  let  him  stray  on  his  techous  way, 

For  Death  only  wars  on  the  quick. 

Death  saw  a  tollman  taking  a  toll, 
In  the  spirit  of  his  fraternity ; 


378  THE    PKOGRESS    OF   AET. 

But  he  knew  that  sort  of  man  would  extort, 
Though  summoned  to  all  eternity. 

He  found  an  author  writing  his  life, 

But  he  let  him  write  no  further ; 
For  Death,  who  strikes  whenever  he  likes, 

Is  jealous  of  all  self-murther  ! 

Death  saw  a  patient  that  pulled  out  his  pm-se, 

And  a  doctor  that  took  the  sum  ; 
But  he  let  them  be  —  for  he  knew  that  the  "  fee  " 

Was  a  prelude  to  "  faw  "  and  "  fum." 

He  met  a  dustman  ringing  a  bell, 

And  he  gave  him  a  mortal  thrust ; 
For  himself,  by  law,  since  Adam's  flaw. 

Is  contractor  for  all  om*  dust. 

He  saw  a  sailor  mixing  his  grog. 

And  he  marked  him  out  for  slaughter ; 

For  on  water  he  scarcely  had  cared  for  death, 
And  never  on  rum-and-water. 

Death  saw  two  players  playing  at  cards, 
But  the  game  wasn't  worth  a  dump. 

For  he  quickly  laid  them  flat  with  a  spade, 
To  wait  for  the  final  trump ! 


THE  PROGRESS   OF   ART. 

O  HAPPY  time  !  —  Art's  early  days  ! 

When  o'er  each  deed,  with  sweet  self-praise, 

Narcissus-lilvc  I  hung ! 
When  great  Rembrandt  but  little  seemed, 
And  such  Old  Masters  all  were  deemed 

As  nothing  to  the  young ! 


THE    PKOGEESS    OF   ART.  379 

Some  scratchy  strokes  —  abrupt  and  few, 
So  easily  and  swift  I  drew, 

Sufficed  for  my  design ; 
My  sketchy,  supei-ficial  hand. 
Drew  solids  at  a  dash  —  and  spanned 

A  sm-face  with  a  line. 

Not  long:  mv  eye  was  thus  content, 
But  grew  more  critical  —  my  bent 

Essayed  a  higher  walk  ; 
I  copied  leaden  eyes  in  lead  — 
Rheumatic  hands  in  white  and  red, 

And  gouty  feet  —  in  chalk. 

Anon  my  studious  art  for  days 
Kept  making  faces  —  happy  phrase, 

For  faces  such  as  mine ! 
Accomplished  in  the  details  then, 
I  left  the  minor  parts  of  men. 

And  di-ew  the  fornvdi%ine. 

Old  gods  and  heroes  —  Trojan  —  Greek, 
Figui-es  —  long  after  the  antique, 

Great  Ajax  justly  feared  ; 
Hectors,  of  whom  at  night  I  dreamt. 
And  Nestor,  fringed  enough  to  tempt 

Bird-nesters  to  his  beard. 

A  Bacchus,  leeiing  on  a  bowl, 
A  Pallas,  that  out-stared  her  owl, 

A  Vulcan  —  very  lame  ; 
A  Dian  stuck  about  with  stars. 
With  my  right  hand  I  murdered  Mars  — 

(One  Williams  did  the  same.) 

But  tired  of  this  dry  work  at  last, 
"Crayon  and  challi  aside  I  cast, 


380  THE    PROGRESS    OF    ART. 

And  gave  my  brush  a  drink  ; 
Dipping  —  "  as  when  a  painter  dips 
In  gloom  of  earthquake  and  ecHpse,"  — 

That  is  —  in  Indian  ink. 

0  then,  what  black  Mont  Blancs  arose, 
Crested  with  soot,  and  not  with  snows  ! 

What  clouds  of  dingy  hue  ! 
In  spite  of  what  the  bard  has  penned, 

1  fear  the  distance  did  not  "  lend 

Enchantment  to  the  view." 

Not  Radclyffe's  brush  did  e'er  design 
Black  forests  half  so  black  as  mme, 

Or  lakes  so  like  a  pall ; 
The  Chinese  cake  dispersed  a  ray 
Of  darkness,  like  the  light  of  Day 

And  Martin,  over  all. 

Yet  urchin  pride  sustained  me  still ; 
I  gazed  on  all  with  right  good  Avill, 

And  spread  the  dingy  tint ; 
"  No  holy  Luke  helped  me  to  paint ; 
The  Devil,  surely  not  a  Saint, 

Had  any  finger  in't !  " 

But  colors  came  !  —  like  morning  light, 
With  gorgeous  hues  displacing  night. 

Or  Spring's  enUvened  scene  : 
At  once  the  sable  shades  withdrew ; 
My  skies  got  very,  very  blue  ; 

My  trees,  extremely  green. 

And,  washed  by  my  cosmetic  brush, 
How  Beauty's  cheek  began  to  blush  ! 
With  lock  of  auburn  stain  — 


THE    PROGRESS    OP    ART.  381 

(Not  Goldsmith's  Auburn)  —  nut-brown  hair 
That  made  her  loveliest  of  the  fair ; 
Not  "  loveliest  of  the  plain  ! " 

Her  lips  were  of  vermilion  hue  ; 
Love  in  her  eyes,  and  Prussian  blue, 

Set  all  my  heart  in  flame  ! 
A  young  Pygmalion,  I  adored 
The  maids  I  made  —  but  time  was  stored 

With  evil  —  and  it  came  ! 

Perspective  dawned  —  and  soon  I  saw 
My  houses  stand  against  its  law  ; 

And  "  keeping  "  all  unkept ! 
My  beauties  were  no  longer  things 
For  love  and  fond  imaginings  ; 

But  horrors  to  be  wept ! 

Ah  !  why  did  knowledge  ope  my  eyes  ? 
Why  did  I  get  more  artist-wise  ? 

It  only  serves  to  hint 
What  grave  defects  and  wants  are  mine ; 
That  I'm  no  Hilton  in  design  — 

In  nature  no  Dewint ! 

Thrice  happy  time  !  —  Art's  early  days  ! 
When  o'er  each  deed,  with  sweet  self-praise, 

Narcissus-like  I  hung ! 
When  great  Rembrandt  but  little  seemed, 
And  such  Old  Masters  all  were  deemed 

As  nothing  to  the  yoimg ! 


382  .  A   FAIRY   TALE. 


A  FAIRY  TALE. 

On  Hounslow  heath  —  and  close  beside  the  road, 
As  -western  travellers  may  oft  have  seen,  — 
A  little  house  some  years  ago  there  stood, 

A  minikin  abode  ; 
And  built  like  Mr.  Birkbeck's,  all  of  wood ; 
The  walls  of  white,  the  window-shutters  green ;  — 
Four  wheels  it  had  at  North,  South,  East,  and  West 

(Though  now  at  rest,) 
On  which  it  used  to  wander  to  and  fro. 
Because  its  master  ne'er  maintained  a  rider, 
LOte  those  who  trade  in  Paternoster  Row ; 
But  made  his  business  travel  for  itself. 

Till  he  had  made  his  pelf, 
And  then  retired  —  if  one  may  call  it  so, 

Of  a  roadsider. 
Perchance,  the  very  race  and  constant  riot 
Of  stages,  long  and  short,  which  thereby  ran, 
Made  him  more  relish  the  repose  and  quiet 

Of  his  now  sedentary  caravan  ; 
Perchance,  he  loved  the  ground  because  'twas  common. 
And  so  he  might  im])ale  a  strip  of  soil. 

That  fm-nished,  by  his  toil, 
Some  dusty  greens,  for  him  and  his  old  woman ;  — 
And  five  tall  hollyhocks,  in  dingy  flower. 
Howbeit,  the  thoroughfare  did  no  ways  spoil 
His  peace,  —  unless,  in  some  unlucky  hour, 
A  stray  horse  came  and  gobbled  up  his  bower ! 

But,  tired  of  alvrays  loolung  at  the  coaches. 
The  same  to  come,  —  when  they  had  seen  them  one  day ! 
And,  used  to  brisker  life,  both  man  and  wife 


A    FAIRY    TALE.  383 

Began  to  suffer  X  U  E's  approaches, 
And  feel  retirement  like  a  long  wet  Sunday, — 
So,  having  had  some  quarters  of  school-breeding, 
They  turned  themselves,  like  other  folks,  to  reading  ; 
But  setting  out  where  others  nigh  have  done, 
And  being  ripened  in  the  seventh  stage, 

The  childhood  of  old  age. 
Began,  as  other  childi-en  have  begun,  — 
Not  with  the  pastorals  of  Mr,  Pope, 

Or  Bard  of  Hope, 
Or  Paley  ethical,  or  learned  Porson,  — 
But  spelt,  on  Sabbaths,  in  St.  Mark,  or  John, 
And  then  relaxed  themselves  with  Whittington, 

Or  Valentine  and  Orson  — 
But  chiefly  fairy  tales  they  loved  to  con, 
And  being  easily  melted  in  their  dotage, 

Slobbered,  —  and  kept 

Reading,  —  and  wept 
Over  the  White  Cat,  in  their  wooden  cottage. 

Thus  reading  on  —  the  longer 
They  read,  of  course,  their  childish  faith  grew  stronger 
In  Gnomes,  and  Hags,  and  Elves,  and  Giants  grim,  — 
If  talking  trees  and  birds  revealed  to  him. 
She  saw  the  flight  of  Fairyland's  fly-wagons, 

And  magic  fishes  swim 
In  puddle  ponds,  and  took  old  crows  for  dragons,  — 
Both  were  quite  drunk  from  the  enchanted  flagons ; 
"When,  as  it  fell  upon  a  summer's  day, 
As  the  old  man  sat  a  feeding 

On  the  old  babe-reading. 
Beside  his  open  street-and-parlor  door, 

A  liideous  roar 
Proclaimed  a  drove  of  beasts  was  coming  by  the  way. 


384  ■*■    FAIRY    TALE. 

Long-horned,  and  short,  of  many  a  different  breed, 
Tall,  tawny  brutes,  from  famous  Lincoln-levels, 

Or  Durham  feed, 
With  some  of  those  unquiet  black  dwarf  devils, 

From  nether  side  of  Tweed, 

Or  Fii-th  of  Forth ; 
Looking  half  wild  with  joy  to  leave  the  North,  — 
With  dusty  hides,  aU  mobbing  on  together,  — 
When,  —  whether  from  a  fly's  malicious  comment 
Upon  his  tender  flank,  from  which  he  shrank  ; 

Or  whether 
Only  in  some  enthusiastic  moment,  — 
However,  one  brown  monster,  in  a  fiisk, 
Giving  his  tail  a  perjjendicular  whisk. 
Kicked  out  a  passage  through  the  beastly  rabble ; 
And  after  a  pas  seul,  —  or,  if  you  -will,  a 
Hornpipe  before  the  basket-maker's  villa, 

Leapt  o'er  the  tiny  ])ale,  — 
Backed  his  beef-steaks  against  the  wooden  gable 
And  thrust  his  brawny  bell-rope  of  a  tail 
Right  o'er  the  page 
Wherein  the  sage 
Just  then  was  spelhng  some  romantic  fable. 

The  old  man,  half  a  scholar,  half  a  dunce. 

Could  not  peruse  —  who  could  ?  —  two  tales  at  once  ; 

And  being  huffed 
At  what  he  knew  was  none  of  Riquet's  Tuft, 

Banged-to  the  door. 
But  most  unluckly  enclosed  a  morsel 
Of  the  intruding  tail,  and  all  the  tassel :  — 

The  monster  gave  a  roar. 
And  bolting  off  with  speed,  increased  by  pain, 


A   FAIRY    TALE.  385 

The  little  house  became  a  coach  once  more, 
And,  like  Macheath,  "  took  to  the  road  "  again  ! 

Just  then,  by  fortune's  whimsical  decree. 
The  ancient  woman  stoojoing  with  her  crupper 
Towards  sweet  home,  or  where  sweet  home  should  be, 
Was  getting  up  some  household  herbs  for  supper : 
Thoughtful  of  Cinderella,  in  the  tale, 
And  quaintly  wondering  if  magic  shifts 
Could  o'er  a  common  pumpkin  so  prevail, 
To  turn  it  to  a  coach,  —  what  pretty  gifts 
Might  come  of  cabbages,  and  curly  kale : 
Meanwhile  she  never  heard  her  old  man's  wail, 
Nor  turned,  till  home  had  turned  a  corner,  quite 
Gone  out  of  sight ! 

At  last,  conceive  her,  rising  from  the  ground. 
Weary  of  sitting  on  her  russet  clothing ; 
And  looking  round 
Where  rest  Avas  to  be  found, 
There  was  no  house  —  no  villa  there  —  no  nothing ! 
No  house ! 
The  change  was  quite  amazing ; 
It  made  her  senses  stagger  for  a  minute. 
The  riddle's  explication  seemed  to  harden ; 
But  soon  her  superannuated  nous 
Explained  the  horrid  mystery ;  —  and  raising 
Her  hand  to  heaven,  with  the  cabbage  in  it. 

On  Avhich  she  meant  to  sup,  — 
"  Well!  this  is  Fairy  AVork!  I'll  bet  a  farden. 
Little  Prince  Silverwings  has  ketched  me  up, 
And  set  me  down  in  some  one  else's  garden !  " 
33 


386  THE    TURTLES. 


THE    TURTLES. 

A    FABLE. 
"  The  rage  of  the  vulture,  the  love  of  the  turtle."  —  BrROir. 

One  day,  it  was  before  a  civic  dinner, 

Two  London  aldermen,  no  matter  which, — 

Cordwainer,  Girdler,  Pattern-maker,  Skinner,  — 
But  both  were  florid,  corpulent,  and  rich. 

And  both  right  fond  of  festive  demolition. 

Set  forth  upon  a  secret  expedition. 

Yet  not,  as  might  be  fancied  from  the  token, 
To  Pudding  Lane,  Pie  Corner,  or  the  Street 
Of  Bread,  or  Grub,  or  any  thing  to  eat, 

Or  drink,  as  Milk,  or  Vintr}-,  or  Portsoken, 

But  eastward,  to  that  more  aquatic  quarter. 
Where  folks  take  water. 

Or,  bound  on  voyages,  secure  a  berth 

For  Antwerp  or  Ostend,  Dundee  or  Perth, 

Calais,  Boulogne,  or  any  port  on  earth ! 

Jostled  and  jostling,  through  the  mud. 

Peculiar  to  the  town  of  Lud, 
Down  narrow  streets  and  crooked  lanes  they  dived, 

Past  many  a  gusty  avenue,  through  which 

Came  yellow  fog,  and  smell  of  pitch. 
From  barge,  and  boat,  and  dusky  wharf  derived ; 
With  darker  fumes,  brought  eddying  by  the  di-aught, 

From  loco-smoko-motive  craft ; 
Mingling  with  scents  of  butter,  cheese,  and  gammons. 

Tea,  coffee,  sugar,  pickles,  rosin,  wax. 

Hides,  tallow,  Russia  matting,  hemp  and  flax. 
Salt  cod,  red 'herrings,  sprats,  and  kippered  salmons, 

Nuts,  oranges,  and  lemons, 


THE   TURTLES.  387 

Each  pungent  spice,  and  aromatic  gum, 
Gas,  pepper,  soaplees,  brandy,  gin,  and  rum ; 
Alamode  beef  and  greens  —  the  London  soil — 
Glue,  coal,  tobacco,  turpentine,  and  oil, 
Bark,  asatbetida,  squills,  \dtriol,  hops. 
In  short,  all  whiffs,  and  sniffs,  and  puffs,  and  snuffs, 
From  metals,  minerals,  and  dyeAvood  stuffs, 
Fruits,  \-ictual,  drink,  solidities,  or  slops  — 
In  flasks,  casks,  bales,  trucks,  wagons,  taverns,  shops, 
Boats,  lighters,  cellars,  wharfs,  and  warehouse-tops. 
That,  as  we  walk  upon  the  river's  ridge. 
Assault  the  nose  —  below  the  bridge. 

A  walk,  however,  as  tradition  tells, 
That  once  a  poor  blind  Tobit  used  to  choose, 
Because,  incapable  of  other  views. 

He  met  with  "  such  a  sight  of  smells." 

But  on,  and  on,  and  on. 
In  spite  of  all  unsavory  shocks. 

Progress  tlie  stout  Su-  Peter  and  Sir  John, 
Steadily  steering  ship-like  for  the  docks  — 
And  now  thej'  reach  a  ])lace  the  Muse,  unwilling, 
Recalls  for  female  slang  and  vulgar  doing. 

The  famous  Gate  of  BilHng 

That  does  not  lead  to  cooing  — 
And  now  they  pass  that  house  that  is  so  ugly 
A  customer  to  2)eoj;le  looking  smuggl'y  — 
And  now  along  that  fatal  hill  they  pass 
Where  centuiies  ago  an  Oxford  bled, 
And  proved  —  too  late  to  save  liis  life,  alas !  — 
That  he  was  "  off'  his  head." 

At  last  before  a  loft}-  brick-built  pile 

Sir  Peter  stopped,  and  A\ith  mysterious  smile 


388  THE    TURTLES. 

Tinkled  a  bell  that  served  to  bring 

The  wire-drawn  genius  of  the  ring, 

A  species  of  commercial  Samuel  Weller  — 

To  whom  Sir  Peter,  tipping  him  a  wink, 

And  something  else  to  drink, 

"Show  us  the  cellar." 

Obsequious  bowed  the  man,  and  led  the  way 
Down  sundry  Hights  of  stairs,  where  windows  small. 
Dappled  with  mud,  let  in  a  dingy  ray  — 
A  dirty  tax,  if  they  were  taxed  at  all. 
At  length  they  came  into  a  cellar  damp, 
With  venerable  cobwebs  fringed  around, 

A  cellar  of  that  stamp 
Which  often  harbors  vintages  renowned, 
The  feudal  Hock,  or  Burgundy  the  courtly, 

With  sherry,  brown  or  golden, 

Or  port,  so  olden. 
Bereft  of  body  'tis  no  longer  portly  — 
But  old  or  otherwise  —  to  be  veracious  — 
That  cobwebbed  cellar,  damp,  and  dim,  and  spacious, 
Held  nothing  crusty  —  but  crustaceous. 

Prone  on  the  chilly  floor. 
Five  splendid  turtles  —  such  a  five ! 
Natives  of  some  West  Indian  shore. 

Were  flapping  all  ali^•e, 
Late  landed  from  the  Jolly  Planter's  yawl  — 
A'  sight  'whereon  the  dignitaries  fixed 
Their  eager  eyes,  with  ecstasy  unmixed. 
Like  fathers  that  behold  their  infants  crawl, 
Enjoying  every  little  kick  and  sjDrawl. 
Nay  —  far  from  fatherly  the  thoughts  they  bred. 
Poor  loggerheads  from  far  Ascension  ferried ! 
The  Aldermen  too  plainly  wished  them  dead 
And  Aldermanbui-y'd ! 


THE    TURTLES.  389 

"  There !  "  cried  Sir  Peter,  Mith  an  aii- 
Triumphant  as  an  ancient  victor's, 
And  pointing  to  the  creatiu'es  rich  and  rare, 
"  There's  picters  ! 

" Talk  of  Ohmpic  Games !     They're  not  worth  mention  ; 
The  real  prize  for  -wrestling  is  when  Jack, 

In  Pro\-idence  or  Ascension, 
Can  throw  a  lively  turtle  on  its  back ! " 

"  Ay ! "  cried  Sir  John,  and  with  a  score  of  nods, 
Thoughtful  of  classical  symposium, 

"  There's  food  for  gods  ! 
There's  nectar  !  there's  ambrosium  I 
There's  food  for  Roman  emperors  to  eat  — 

O,  there  had  been  a  treat 
(Those  ancient  names  will  sometimes  hobble  us) 

For  Helio-gobble-us  ! 

"  There  were  a  feast  for  Alexander's  Feast ! 

The  real  sort  —  none  of  your  mock  or  spurious  ! " 

And  then  he  mentioned  Aldermen  deceased, 

And  "  Epicm-ius," 
And  how  TertuUian  had  enjoyed  such  foison  ; 
And  speculated  on  that  verdigrease 

That  isn't  poison. 

"  Talk  of  your  Spring,  and  verdure,  and  all  that ! 

Give  me  green  fat ! 
As  for  your  poets  with  their  groves  of  myrtles 

And  billing  tiu-tles. 
Give  me,  for  poetry,  them  Turtles  there, 

A-billing  in  a  bill  of  fare  ! 

"  Of  all  the  things  I  ever  swallow  — 
Good,  well-dressed  turtle  beats  them  hollow ; 
33* 


390  THE    TURTLES. 

It  almost  makes  me  wish,  I  vow, 
To  have  two  stomachs,  like  a  cow ! " 
And,  lo !  as  with  the  cud,  an  inward  thrill 
Upheaved  his  waistcoat  and  disturbed  his  frill, 
His  mouth  was  oozing  and  he  worked  liis  jaw  — 
"  I  almost  tliink  that  I  could  eat  one  raw  !  " 

And  thus,  as  "  inward  love  breeds  outward  talk," 
The  portly  pan-  continued  to  discourse  ; 
And  then  —  as  Gray  describes  of  life's  divorce  — 
With  "  longing,  lingering  look  "  prepared  to  walk,  ■ 
Having  through  one  delighted  sense,  at  least, 
Enjoyed  a  sort  of  Barmecidal  feast, 
And  with  prophetic  gestures,  strange  to  see, 
Forestalled  the  ci\dc  banquet  yet  to  be. 
Its  callipash  and  callipee ! 

A  pleasant  prospect  — but,  alack  ! 
Scarcely  each  Alderman  had  turned  his  back, 
When,  seizing  on  the  moment  so  propitious. 
And  having  learned  that  they  were  so  delicious 

To  bite  and  sup. 
From  praises  so  high  flown  and  injudicious,  — 

And  nothing  could  be  more  pernicious  ! 
The  Turtles  fell  to  work,  and  ate  each  other  up ! 

Poral. 

Never,  from  foUy  or  urbanity. 
Praise  people  thus  profusely  to  their  faces, 
Till,  quite  in  love  with  their  own  graces, 
They're  eaten  up  by  vanity ! 


LOVE   LANE.  391 


LOVE  LANE. 

If  I  should  love  a  maiden  more, 
And  woo  her  every  hope  to  cro-mi, 
I'd  love  her  all  the  country  o'er, 
But  not  declare  it  out  of  town. 

One  even,  by  a  mossy  bank, 

That  held  a  hornet's  nest  witliin, 

To  Ellen  on  my  knees  I  sank,  — 

How  snakes  ■will  twine  around  the  shin ! 

A  bashful  fear  my  soul  unnerved, 
And  gave  my  heart  a  backAvard  tug  ; 
Nor  was  I  cheered  when  she  observed. 
Whilst  I  was  silent,  "  What  a  slug  !  " 

At  length  my  offer  I  ])refen-ed. 
And  Hope  a  kind  reply  forebode  — 
Alas !  the  only  sound  I  heard 
Was,  •'  What  a  horrid  ugly  toad  !  " 

I  vowed  to  give  her  all  my  heart. 
To  love  her  till  my  life  took  leave. 
And  painted  all  a  lover's  smart  — 
Except  a  wasp  gone  up  his  sleeve ! 

J3ut  when  I  ventured  to  abide 

Her  father's  and  her  mother's  grants  — 

Sudden  she  started  up  and  cried, 

"  O  dear !  I  am  all  over  ants  !  " 

Nay,  when  beginning  to  beseech 
The  cause  that  led  to  my  rebuff 


392  ^OY^    LANE. 

The  answer  was  as  strange  a  speech  — 
A  "  Daddy-Longlegs,  sure  enough  !  " 

I  spoke  of  fortune  —  house,  —  and  lands, 
And  still  renewed  the  warm  attack, — 
Tis  vain  to  offer  ladies  hands 
That  have  a  spider  on  the  back  ! 

'Tis  vain  to  talk  of  hopes  and  fears, 
And  hope  the  least  reply  to  win, 
From  any  maid  that  stops  her  ears 
In  dread  of  earwigs  creeping  in ! 

'Tis  vain  to  call  the  dearest  names 
"Whilst  stoats  and  weasels  startle  by  — 
As  vain  to  talk  of  mutual  flames 
To  one  with  glowworms  in  her  eye  ! 

What  checked  me  in  my  fond  address, 
And  knocked  each  pretty  image  down? 
What  stopped  my  Ellen's  faltering  yes  ? 
A  caterpillar  on  her  gown  ! 

To  list  to  Philomel  is  sweet  — 
To  see  the  moon  rise  silver-pale,  — 
But  not  to  kneel  at  lady's  feet 
And  crush  a  rival  in  a  snail  I 

Sweet  is  the  eventide,  and  kind 
Its  zephyr,  balmy  as  the  south  ; 
But  sweeter  still  to  speak  your  mind 
Without  a  chafer  in  yoizr  mouth  ! 

At  last,  emboldened  by  my  bliss, 
Still  fickle  Fortune  played  me  foul,. 


DOMESTIC    POEMS.  393 

For  when  I  strove  to  snatch  a  kiss 

She  screamed  —  by  proxy,  through  an  owl ! 

Then,  lovers,  doomed  to  life  or  death, 
Shmi  moonlight,  twilight,  lanes  and  bats. 
Lest  you  should  have  in  self-same  breath 
To  bless  your  fate  —  and  curse  the  gnats ! 


DOMESTIC  POEMS. 

'  It's  hame,  hame,  hame."'  —  A.  Cdnningham. 
"  There's  no  place  like  home."  —  Cl.\ri. 

I. 

HYMENEAL    RETROSPECTIONS. 

0  IL\TE !  my  dear  partner,  through  joy  and  through 
strife ! 

When  I  look  back  at  Hymen's  dear  day, 
Not  a  lovelier  bride  ever  changed  to  a  wife. 

Though  you're  now  so  old,  wizened,  and  gray  ! 

Those  eyes,  then,  were  stars,  shining  rulers  of  fate  ! 

But  as  liquid  as  stars  in  a  pool ; 
Though  now  they're  so  dim,  they  appear,  my  dear  Kate, 

Just  like  goosebenies  boiled  for  a  fool ! 

That  brow  was  like  marble,  so  smooth  and  so  fair ; 

Though  it's  wrinkled  so  crookedly  now. 
As  if  Time,  when  those  furrows  were  made  by  the  share, 

Had  been  tipsy  whilst  driving  his  plough ! 

Your  nose,  it  was  such  as  the  sculptors  all  chose, 

AVhen  a  Venus  demanded  their  skill ; 
Though  now  it  can  hardly  be  reckoned  a  nose, 

But  a  sort  of  Poll-Parroty  bill ! 


394  •  DOMESTIC    POEMS. 

Your  mouth,  it  was  then  quite  a  bait  for  the  bees, 

Such  a  nectar  there  hung  on  each  lip  ; 
Though  now  it  has  taken  that  lemon-like  squeeze, 

Not  a  blue-bottle  comes  for  a  sip  ! 

Your  chin,  it  was  one  of  Love  favorite  haimts. 
From  its  dimple  he  could  not  get  loose ; 

Though  now  the  neat  hand  of  a  barber  it  wants. 
Or  a  singe,  like  the  breast  of  a  goose ! 

How  rich  were  those  locks,  so  abundant  and  full, 

With  their  ringlets  of  aubm-n  so  deep  ! 
Though  now  they  look  only  like  frizzles  of  wool. 

By  a  bramble  torn  off  from  a  sheep ! 

That  neck,  not  a  swan  could  excel  it  in  grace. 
While  in  whiteness  it  vied  with  your  arms  : 

Though  now  a  grave  'kerchief  you  properly  place. 
To  conceal  that  scrag-end  of  your  charms ! 

Yom-  figure  was  tall,  then,  and  perfectly  straight. 
Though  it  now  has  two  twists  from  upright  — 

But  bless  you  !  still  bless  you  !  my  partner !  my  Kate ! 
Though  you  be  such  a  perfect  old  fright ! 

II. 

The  sun  was  slumbering  in  the  west,  my  daily  labors 

past  ; 
On  Anna's  soft  and  gentle  breast  my  head  reclined  at 

last ! 
The  darkness  closed  around,  so  dear  to  fond  congenial 

souls ; 
And  thus  she  murmured  at  my  ear,  "  My  love,  we're 

out  of  coals ! 

"That  Mister  Bond  has  called  again,  insisting  on  his 
rent ; 


DOMESTIC    POEMS.  395 

And  all  the  Todds  are  coming  up  to  see  us,  out  of  Kent ; 
I  quite  forgot  to  tell  you  John  has  had  a  tipsy  fall ;  — 
I'm  sure  there's  something  going  on  -with  that  vile  Mary 
HaU! 

"  Miss  BeU  has  bought  the  sweetest  silk,  and  I  have 

bought  the  rest  — 
Of  course,  if  we  go  out  of  town,  Southend  Mill  be  the 

best. 
I  really  think  the  Jones's  house  would  be  the  tiling 

for  us  ; 
I  think  I  told  you  INIrs.  Pope  had  parted  A\ith  hev.nics. 

"  Cook,  by  the  way,  came  up  to-day,  to  bid  me  suit 

myself — 
And  what  d'ye  think  ?  the  mts  have  gnawed  the  victuals 

on  the  shelf. 
And,  Lord !  there's  such  a  letter  come,  imiting  you  to 

fight! 
Of  comrse  you  don't  intend  to  go  —  God  bless  you,  dear, 

good-night ! " 

III. 

A   PARENTAL   ODE    TO   MY   SON,    AGED    THREE   YEARS   AND 
FIVE    MONTHS. 

Thou  happy,  happy  elf! 
(But  stop,  —  first  let  me  kiss  away  that  tear)  — 

Thou  tiny  image  of  myself! 
(My  love,  he's  poking  peas  into  his  ear  !  ) 

Thou  meiTy,  laughing  sprite  ! 

With  sjjii'its  feather-light. 
Untouched  by  sorrow,  and  unsoilod  by  sin  — 
(Good  heavens  !  tlie  child  is  swallowing  a  pin !) 


396  DOMESTIC    POEMS, 

Thou  little  tricksy  Puck ! 
With  antic  toys  so  funnily  bestuck, 
Light  as  the  singing  bird  that  wings  the  air — 
(The  door  !  the  poor !  he'll  tumble  down  the  stair !) 

Thou  darling  of  thy  sire  ! 
(Why,  Jane,  he'll  set  his  pinafore  afire !) 

Thou  imp  of  mirth  and  joy ! 
In  Love's  dear  chain  so  strong  and  bnght  a  link, 
Thou  idol  of  thy  parents  —  (Drat  the  boy ! 

There  goes  my  ink  !) 

Thou  cherub  —  but  of  earth ; 
Fit  playfellow  for  Fays,  by  moonlight  pale, 

In  harmless  sport  and  mirth, 
(That  dog  ^\^ll  bite  him  if  he  pulls  its  tail !) 

Thou  human  humming-bee,  extracting  honey 
From  every  blossom  in  the  world  that  blows. 

Singing  in  youth's  elysium  ever  sunny, 
(Another  tumble  !  —  that's  his  precious  nose !) 

Thy  father's  pride  and  hope  ! 
(He'll  break  the  muTor  with  that  skipping-rope !) 
With  pure  heart  newly  stamped  from  Nature's  mint  - 
(Where  did  he  learn  that  squint  ?) 

Thou  young  domestic  dove  ! 
(He'll  have  that  jug  off,  with  another  shove  !) 

Dear  nui-sHng  of  the  Hymeneal  nest ! 

(Are  those  torn  clothes  his  best  ?) 

Little  epitome  of  man ! 
(He'll  climb  upon  the  table,  that's  his  plan  !) 
Touched  with  the  beauteous  tints  of  dawning  life  — 

(He's  got  a  knife  !) 

Thou  enviable  being ! 
No  storms,  no  clouds,  in  thy  blue  sky  foreseeing, 


A    SERENADE.  397 

Play  on,  play  on, 

My' elfin  John! 
Toss  the  light  ball  —  bestride  the  stick  — 
(I  knew  so  many  cakes  would  make  him  sick !) 
With  fancies,  buoyant  as  the  thistle-do^vn, 
Prompting  the  face  grotesque,  and  antic  brisk. 

With  many  a  lamb-like  frisk, 
{He'S|got  the  scissors,  snipping  at  your  gown !) 

Thou  pretty  opening  rose ! 
(Go  to  your  mother,  child,  and  wipe  your  nose !) 
Balmy  and  breathing  music  like  the  South, 
(He  really  brings  my  heart  into  my  mouth !) 
Fresh  as  the  morn,  and  brilliant  as  its  star,  — 
(I  wish  that  window  had  an  iron  bar* !) 
Bold  as  the  hawk,  yet  gentle  as  the  dove,  — 

(I'll  tell  you  what,  my  love, 
I  cannot  write  imless  he's  sent  above !) 

IV. 

A    SERENADE. 

"  LuLLABT,  O,  lullaby ! " 
Thus  I  heard  a  father  cry, 

"  Lullaby,  O,  lullaby  ! 
The  brat  will  never  shut  an  eye ; 
Hither  come,  some  jjower  dirine  ! 
Close  his  lids,  or  open  mine  !  " 

"  Lullaby.  O.  lullnby  ! 
What  the  devil  makes  him  crj'  ? 

Lullaby,  O,  lullaby ! 
Still  he  stares  —  I  wonder  why. 
Why  are  not  the  sons  of  earth 
Blind,  like  jjuppies,  from  the  birth  i'  " 
34 


398  A    TLATX    DIRECTION. 

"  Lullaby,  O,  lullaby ! " 
Thus  I  heard  the  father  cry ; 

"  Lullaby,  O,  lullaby ! 
Mary,  you  must  come  and  try !  — 
Hush,  O,  hush,  for  mercy's  sake  — 
The  more  I  sing,  the  more  you  wake  ! " 

"  Lullaby,  O,  lullaby  ! 
Fie,  you  little  creature,  fie  ! 

Lullaby,  O,  lullaby ! 
Is  no  jjoppy-syrup  nigh  ? 
Give  him  some,  or  give  him  all, 
I  am  nodding  to  his  fall !  " 


•■o 


"Lullaby,  O,  lullaby! 
Two  such  nights  and  I  shall  die  ! 

Lullaby,  6,  lullaby ! 
He'll  be  bruised,  and  so  shall  I,  — 
How  can  I  from  bed-posts  keep, 
When  I'm  walking  in  my  sleep  !  " 

"  Lullaby,  O,  lullaby  ! 
Sleep  his  very  looks  deny  — 

Lullaby,  O,  lullaby ! 
Nature  soon  will  stupefy  — 
My  nerves  relax,  —  my  eyes  grow  dim  • 
Who's  that  fallen  —  me  or  him  ?  " 


A  PLAIN  DIRECTION. 

"  Do  you  never  deviate  ?  "  —  John  Bull. 

In  London  once  I  lost  my  way  in  faring  to  and  fro. 
And  asked  a  ragged  little  boy  the  way  that  I  should  go ; 


A   PLAIN    DIRECTION.  399 

He  gave  a  nod,  and  then  a  wink,  and  told  me  to  get  there 
"  Straight  down  the  Crooked  Lane,  and  all  round  the 
Square." 

I  boxed  his  little  saucy  ears,  and  then  away  I  strode ; 
But  since  I've  found  that  weary  path  is  quite  a  common 

road. 
Utopia  is  a  pleasant  place,  but  how  shall  I  get  there  ? 
"  Straight  down  "the  Crooked  Lane,  and  all  round  the 

Square." 

I've  read  about  a  famous  town  that  drove  a  famous  trade, 
Where  Whittington  walked  up  and  found  a  fortune  ready 

made. 
The  very  streets  ai-e  j^aved  with  gold ;  but  how  shall  I 

get  there  ? 
"  Straight  down  the  Crooked  Lane,  and  all  round  the 

Square." 

I've  read  about  a  Fairy  Land,  in  some  romantic  tale, 
Where  dwarfs  if  good  are  sure  to  thrive,  and  ■\\icked 

giants  fail ; 
My  wish  is  great,  my  shoes  are  strong,  but  how  shall  I 

get  there  ? 
"  Straight  down  the  Crooked  Lane,  and  all  round  the 

Square." 

I've  heard  about  some  happy  isle,  where  every  man  is 

free, 
And  none  can  he  in  bonds  for  life  for  want  of  L.  S.  D. 
O !  that's  the  land  of  Liberty !  but  how  shall  I  get  there  ? 
"  Straight  down  the  Crooked  Lane,  and  all  rolind  the 

Square." 

I've  dreamt  about  some  blessed  spot,  beneath  the  blessed 

sky, 
Where  bread  and  justice  never  rise  too  dear  for  follcs  to 

buy. 


400  -A-    PLAIN    DIRECTION. 

It's  cheaper  than  the  Ward  of  Cheap,  but  how  shall  I 

get  there  ? 
"  Straight  down  the  Crooked  Lane,  and  all  round  the 

Squai'e." 

They  say  there  is  an  ancient  house,  as  pure  as  it  is  old. 
Where  members  always  speak  their  minds,  and  votes  are 

never  sold. 
I'm  fond  of  all  antiquities,  but  how  shall  I  get  there  ? 
"  Straight  down  the   Crooked  Lane,  and  all  round  the 

Square." 

They  say  there  is  a  royal  court  maintained  in  noble  state. 
Where  every  able  man,  and  good,  is  certain  to  be  great ! 
I'm  very  fond  of  seeing  sights,  but  how  shall  I  get  there  ? 
"  Straight  down  the  Crooked  Lane,  and  all  round  the 
Square." 

They  say  there  is  a  temple  too,  where  Christians  come  to 

pray ; 
But  canting  knaves  and  hypocrites  and  bigots  keep  away. 
O !  that's  the  parish  church  for  me  !  but  how  shall  I  get 

there  ? 
"  Straight  down  the  Crooked  Lane,  and  all  romid  the 

Square." 

They  say  there  is  a  garden  fair,  that's  haunted  by  the 

dove, 
Where  love  of  gold  doth  ne'er  eclipse  the  golden  light 

of  love ; 
The  place  must  be  a  Paradise,  but  how  shall  I  get  there  ? 
"  Straight  down  the  Crooked  Lane,  and  all  round  the 

Square." 

I've  heard  there  is  a  famous  land  for  public  spirit  known  — 
Whose  patriots  love  its  interests  much  better  than  their 
own. 


UaUESTRIAN    COURTSHIP.  401 

The  Land  of  Promise  sure  it  is  !  but  how  shall  I  get 

there  ? 
"  Straight  down  the  Crooked  Lane,  and  all  round  the 

Squai'e." 

I've  read  about  a  fine  estate,  a  mansion  large  and  strong ; 
A  view  all  over  Kent  and  back,  and  going  for  a  song. 
George  Robins  knows  the  very  spot,  but  how  shall  I  get 

there  ? 
"  Straight  down  the  Crooked  Lane,  and  all  round  the 

Square." 

I've  heard  there  is  a  company  all  formal  and  enrolled, 
"Will  take  your  smallest  silver  coin  and  give  it  back  in 

gold. 
Of  course  the  office-door  is  mobbed,  but  how  shall  I  get 

there .-' 
"  Straight  down  the  Crooked  Lane,  and  all  round  the 

Square." 

I've  heard  about  a  pleasant  land,  where  omelettes  grow 

on  trees. 
And  roasted  pigs  run  crying  out,  "  Come  eat  me,  if  you 

please." 
My  appetite  is  rather  keen,  but  how  shall  I  get  there  ? 
"  Straight  down  the  Crooked  Lane,  and  all  round  the 

Square." 


EQUESTRLiN   COURTSHIP. 

It  was  a  young  maiden  went  forth  to  ride. 
And  there  was  a  wooer  to  pace  by  her  side ; 
His  horse  was  so  Httle,  and  hers  so  high, 
He  thought  his  angel  was  up  in  the  sky. 
34* 


402  AN    OPEN    aUESTION. 

His  love  was  great,  though  his  wit  was  small ; 
He  bade  her  ride  easy  —  and  that  was  all. 
The  very  horses  began  to  neigh,  — 
Because  their  betters  had  nought  to  say. 

They  rode  by  elm,  and  they  rode  by  oak, 

They  rode  by  a  chiu-ch-yard,  and  then  he  spoke :  — 

"  ]My  pretty  maiden,  if  you'll  agree 

You  shall  always  ramble  through  life  with  me." 

The  damsel  answered  him  never  a  word, 

But  kicked  the  gray  mare,  and  away  she  spurred. 

The  wooer  still  followed  behind  the  jade, 

And  enjoyed —  like  a  wooer  —  the  dust  she  made. 

They  rode  through  moss,  and  they  rode  through  moor, 

The  gallant  behind,  and  the  lass  before ;  — 

At  last  they  catlie  to  a  mu-y  place. 

And  there  the  sad  wooer  gave  up  the  chase. 

Quoth  he,  "  If  my  nag  were  better  to  ride, 

I'd  follow  her  over  the  world  so  wide. 

O,  it  is  not  my  love  that  begins  to  fail. 

But  I've  lost  the  last  glimpse  of  the  gray  mare's  tail ! " 


AN   OPEN   QUESTION. 

"  It  is  the  king's  highway  that  we  are  in,  and  in  this  way  it  is  that 
thou  hast  placed  the  lions."  —  Bunyan. 

What  !  shut  the  gardens !  lock  the  latticed  gate ! 

Refuse  the  shilling  and  the  fellow's  ticket ! 
And  hang  a  wooden  notice  up  to  state, 

"  On  Sundays  no  admittance  at  this  wicket ! " 
The  Bu'ds,  the  Beasts,  and  all  the  Reptile  race, 


AN    OPEN   aUESTION.  403 

Denied  to  friends  and  Aisitoi-s  till  Monday ! 
Now,  really,  this  appears  the  common  case 
Of  putting  too  much  Sabbath  into  Sunday  — 
But  what  is  your  opinion,  Mrs.  Grundy  ? 

The  Gardens,  —  so  unlike  the  ones  we  dub 
Of  Tea,  wherein  the  artisan  carouses, — 

Mere  shrubberies  without  one  drop  of  shrub, 

Wherefore  should  they  be  closed  like  public  houses  ? 

No  ale  is  vended  at  the  wild  Deer's  Head,  — 
No  rum  —  nor  gin  —  not  e\en  of  a  Monday  — 

The  Lion  is  not  carved  —  or  gilt  —  or  red,  — 
And  does  not  send  out  porter  of  a  Sunday  — 
But  what  is  yom-  opinion,  Mrs.  Grundy  ? 

The  Bear  denied !  the  Leopard  under  locks  ! 

As  if  his  spots  would  give  contagious  fevers ! 
The  Beaver  close  as  hat  within  its  box  ; 

So  different  from  other  Sunday  beavers ! 
The  Birds  in%isible  —  the  Gnaw-way  Rats  — 

The  Seal  hermetically  sealed  till  Monday  — 
The  Monkey  tribe  —  the  Family  of  Cats, — 

We  visit  other  famiUes  on  Sunday  — 

But  what  is  your  opinion,  Mrs.  Grundy  ? 

What  is  the  brute  profanity  that  shocks 

The  super-sensitively  serious  feeling  ? 
The  Kangaroo  —  is  he  not  orthodox 

To  bend  his  legs,  the  way  he  docs,  in  kneeling  ? 
Was  strict  Sir  Andrew,  in  Ids  Sabbath  coat. 

Struck  all  a-heap  to  see  a  Coati  mundi  ? 
Or  did  the  Kentish  Plumtrce  faint  to  note 

The  Pelicans  presenting  bills  on  Sunday  ?  — 

But  what  is  your  opinion,  Mrs.  Grundy  ? 


404  ^^    OPEX    QUESTION. 

What  feature  has  repulsed  the  serious  set  ? 

"\¥hat  error  in  the  bestial  birth  or  breeding, 
To  put  their  tender  fancies  on  the  fret  ? 

One  thing  is  plain  —  it  is  not  in  the  feeding ! 
Some  stiiUsh  people  think  that  smoking  joints 

Are  carnal  sins  'twixt  Saturday  and  Monday  — 
But  then  the  beasts  are  pious  on  these  points, 

For  they  all  eat  cold  dinners  on  a  Suuday  — 

But  what  is  your  opinion,  !Mrs.  Grundy  ? 

What  change  comes  o'er  the  spirit  of  the  place, 
As  if  transmuted  by  some  spell  organic  ? 

Turns  fell  Hyena  of  the  Ghoulish  race  ? 
The  Snake,  pro  tempore,  the  true  Satanic  ? 

Do  Irish  minds,  —  (whose  theory  allows 

That  now  and  then  Good  Friday  falls  on  Monday)  — 

Do  Irish  minds  suppose  that  Indian  Cows 

Are  wicked  Bulls  of  Bashan  on  a  Sunday  ?  — 
But  what  is  your  opinion,  Mrs.  Grundy  ? 

There  are  some  moody  Fellows,  not  a  few, 
Who,  turned  by  Nature  with  a  gloomy  bias. 

Renounce  black  devils  to  adopt  the  blue, 

And  thiiik  when  they  are  dismal  they  are  pious : 

Is't  possible  that  Pug's  untimely  fun 

Has  sent  the  brutes  to  Coventry  till  Monday — 

Or  perhaps  some  animal,  no  serious  one, 
Was  overheard  in  laughter  on  a  Sunday  — 
But  what  is  your  opinion,  Mrs.  Grundy  ? 

What  dire  offence  have  serious  Fellows  found 

To  raise  their  spleen  against  the  Regent's  spinney  ? 

Were  charitable  boxes  handed  round. 

And  would  not  Guinea  Pigs  subscribe  their  gtiinea  ? 

Perchance,  the  Demoiselle  refused  to  moult 


AX    Oi'EX    aUESTIOX.  405 

The  feathers  in  her  head  —  at  least  till  ^londay  ; 
Or  did  the  Elephant,  unseemly,  bolt 

A  tract  presented  to  be  read  on  Sunday  ?  — 
But  what  is  your  opinion,  Mrs.  Grundy  ? 

At  whom  did  Leo  struggle  to  get  loose  ? 

Who   mom-ns  through   Monkey  tricks  his  damaged 
clothing  ? 
"Who  has  been  hissed  by  the  Canadian  Goose  ? 

On  whom  did  Llama  spit  in  utter  loathing  ? 
Some  Smithfield  Saint  did  jealous  feelings  tell 

To  keep  the  Puma  out  of  sight  till  Monday, 
Because  he  preyed  extempore  as  well 

As  certain  wild  Itinerants  on  Sunday  — 

But  what  is  your  opinion,  Mrs.  Grundy  ? 

To  me  it  seems  that  in  the  oddest  way 
(Begging  the  pai-don  of  each  rigid  Socius) 

Our  would-be  Keepers  of  the  Sabbath-day 

Are  like  the  Keepers  of  the  brutes  ferocious  — 

As  soon  the  Tiger  might  e"xpect  to  stalk 

About  the  gi-ounds  from  Saturday  till  Monday, 

As  any  harmless  man  to  take  a  walk, 

K  Saints  could  clap  him  in  a  cage  on  Sunday  — 
But  what  is  your  opinion,  Mrs.  Grundy  ? 

In  spite  of  all  h\jjocrisy  can  sjiin. 

As  surely  as  I  am  a  Cliristian  scion, 
I  cannot  think  it  is  a  mortal  sin  — 

(Unless  he's  loose)  —  to  look  upon  a  lion. 
I  really  think  that  one  may  go,  perchance. 

To  see  a  bear,  as  guiltless  as  on  Monday  — 
(That  is.  provided  that  he  did  not  dance)  — 

Bruin's  no  worse  than  bakiu'  on  a  Sunday)  — 

But  what  is  your  opinion.  Mrs.  Grundy  ? 


406  A-^    OVKN    QUESTION. 

Ill  spite  of  all  the  fanatic  compiles, 

I  cannot  think  the  daj-  a  bit  diviner, 
Because  no  cliildren,  Avith  forestalhng  smiles, 

Throng,  happy,  to  the  gates  of  Eden  Minor  — 
It  is  not  plain,  to  my  poor  faith,  at  least, 

That  what  we  christen  "  Natural "  on  Monday, 
The  wondrous  history  of  Bird  and  Beast, 

Can  be  unnatural  because  it's  Sunday  — 

But  what  is  youi-  opinion,  Mrs.  Grundy  ? 

Whereon  is  sinful  fantasy  to  work  ? 

The  ]3ove,  the  winged  Columbus  of  man's  haven  ? 
The  tender  Love-Buxl  —  or  the  fiHal  Stork  ? 

The  jjunctual  Crane  —  the  providential  Raven  ? 
The  Pelican  whose  bosom  feeds  her  young  ? 

Nay,  must  we  cut  from  Saturday  till  Monday 
That  feathered  marvel  with  a  human  tongue. 

Because  she  does  not  preach  upon  a  Sunday  — 

But  what  is  your  opinion,  Mrs.  Grundy  ? 

The  busy  Beaver  —  that  sagacious  beast ! 

The  Sheep  that  owned  an  Oriental  Shepherd  — 
That  Desert-ship,  the  Camel  of  the  East, 

The  horned  Rhinoceros  —  the  spotted  Leopard  — 
The  Creatures  of  the  Great  Creator's  hand 

Are  surely  sights  for  better  days  than  Monday  — 
The  Elephant,  although  he  wears  no  band. 

Has  he  no  sermon  in  his  trunk  for  Sunday  ?  — 

But  what  is  your  opinion,  Mrs.  Grundy  ? 

What  harm  if  men  M'ho  burn  the  midnight-oil, 
Weary  of  frame,  and  worn  and  wan  of  feature, 

Seek  once  a  week  their  spirits  to  assoil, 

And  snatch  a  glimpse  of  "  Animated  Nature  "  ? 

Better  it  were  if,  in  his  best  of  suits. 


A    BLACK    JOB.  407 

The  artisan,  who  goes  to  work  on  Monday, 
Should  spend  a  leisure-hour  amongst  the  brutes, 
Than  make  a  beast  of  his  own  self  on  Sunday  — 
But  what  is  your  opinion,  Mrs.  Grundy  ? 

Why,  zounds !  what  raised  so  Protestant  a  fuss 
(Omit  the  zounds  !  for  which  I  make  apology) 

But  that  the  Papists,  like  some  Fellows,  thus 

Had  somehow  mixed  up  Bens  with  their  Theology  ? 

Is  Brahma's  Bull  —  a  Hindoo  god  at  home  — 
A  Papal  Bull  to  be  tied  up  till  Monday  — 

Or  Leo,  like  his  namesake.  Pope  of  Rome, 

That  there  is  such  a  dread  of  them  on  Sunday  — 
But  what  is  your  opinion,  Mrs.  Grundy  ? 

Spirit  of  Kant !  have  Ave  not  had  enough 

To  make  ReHgion  sad,  and  sour,  and  snubbish, 

But  Saints  Zoological  must  cant  then-  stuff. 

As  vessels  cant  their  ballast  —  rattUng  rubbish ! 

Once  let  the  sect,  triumphant  to  their  text, 
Shut  Nero  up  from  Saturday  till  Monday, 

And  sure  as  fate  they  mil  deny  us  next 
To  see  the  Dandelions  on  a  Sunday  — 
But  what  is  your  opuiion,  Mrs.  Grundy  ? 


A  BLACK   JOB. 


"  No  doubt  the  pleasure  is  as  great 
Of  being  cheated  as  to  cheat."  —  HnBlBRAS. 

The  history  of  human-kind  to  trace 

Since  Eve  —  the  first  of  dupes  —  our  doom  unriddled, 
A  certain  portion  of  the  human  race 

Has  certainly  a  taste  for  being  diddled. 


408  -*•    BLACK    JOB. 

Witness  the  famous  Mississippi  dreams  ! 

A  rage  that  time  seems  only  to  redouV)Ie  — 
The  Banks,  Joint-Stocks,  and  all  the  flims}-  schemes, 

For  rolling  in  Pactolian  streams, 
That  cost  our  modem  rogues  so  little  trouble. 
No  matter  what,  —  to  pasture  cows  on  stubble, 

To  twist  sea-sand  into  a  solid  rope, 
To  make  French  bricks  and  fancy  bread  of  rubble. 
Or  light  with  gas  the  whole  celestial  cope  — 

Only  propose  to  blow  a  bubble, 
And,  Lord !  what  hundi-eds  will  suscribe  for  soap ! 

Soap  !  it  reminds  me  of  a  little  tale. 

Though  not  a  pig's,  the  hawbuck's  glory, 
When  rustic  games  and  merriment  prevail  — 

But  here's  my  story  : 
Once  on  a  time  —  no  matter  when  — 
A  knot  of  very  charitable  men 
Set  up  a  Philanthropical  Society, 
Professing  on  a  certain  plan 
To  benefit  the  race  of  man, 
And  in  particular  that  dark  variety. 
Which  some  sujjpose  inferior  —  as  in  vermin. 

The  sable  is  to  ermine, 
As  smut  to  flour,  as  coal  to  alabaster. 

As  crows  to  swans,  or  soot  to  driven  snow. 
As  blacking,  or  as  ink  to  "  milk  below," 
Or  yet,  a  better  simile  to  show, 
As  ragman's  dolls  to  images  in  plaster ! 

However,  as  is  usual  in  our  city. 

They  had  a  sort  of  managing  Committee, 

A  board  of  grave,  responsible  Directors  — 
A  Secretary,  good  at  pen  and  ink  — 
A  Treasurer,  of  courise,  to  keep  the  chink. 


A    BLACK    JOB.  409 

And  qiiite  an  army  of  Collectors ! 
Not  merely  male,  but  female  duns, 

Young,  old,  and  middle-aged  —  of  all  degrees  — 
With  many  of  those  persevering  ones, 

Who  mite  by  mite  would  beg  a  cheese  ! 
And  what  might  be  then*  aim  ? 

To  rescue  Afric's  sable  sons  from  fetters  — 
To  save  their  bodies  from  the  burning  shame 

Of  branding  with  hot  letters  — 
Their  shoulders  ft-om  the  cowhide's  bloody  strokes, 

Their  necks  from  u-on  yokes  ? 
To  end  or  mitigate  the  ills  of  slavery. 
The  Planter's  avarice,  the  Driver's  knavery  ? 
To  school  the  heathen  negroes  and  enlighten  'em, 

To  polish  up  and  brighten  'em. 
And  make  them  worthy  of  eternal  bhss  ? 
Why,  no  —  the  simple  end  and  aim  was  this  — 
Reading  a  well-known  proverb  much  amiss  — 
To  wash  and  whiten  'em  ! 

They  looked  so  ugly  in  their  sable  hides  ; 

So  dark,  so  dingy,  like  a  grubby  lot 
Of  sooty  sweeps,  or  colliers,  and  besides, 
However  the  poor  elves. 
Might  wash  themselves, 
Nobody  knew  if  they  were  clean  or  not  — 
On  Nature's  fairness  they  were  quite  a  blot ! 
Not  to  forget  more  serious  complaints 
That  even  while  they  joined  in  ])ious  hymn, 
So  black  they  were  and  grim. 
In  face  and  limb, 
They  looked  like  Devils,  though  they  sang  like  Saints  • 

The  thing  was  undeniable  ! 
They  wanted  washing- !  not  that  slight  ablution 
35 


410  -A-    BLACK    JUli. 

To  which  the  skin  of  the  white  man  is  liable, 
Merely  remo\ing  transient  pollution  — 

But  good,  hard,  honest,  energetic  rubbing 
And  scrubbing, 
Sousing  each  sooty  frame  from  heels  to  head 

With  stiff,  strong  saponaceous  lather, 

And  pails  of  water — hottish  rather, 
But  not  so  boiling  as  to  turn  'em  red ! 

So  spoke  the  philanthropic  man 

Who  laid,  and  hatched,  and  nursed  the  plan  — 

And,  O  !  to  view  its  glorious  consummation ! 
The  brooms  and  mops. 
The  tubs  and  slops. 

The  baths  and  brushes  in  full  operation  ! 
To  see  each  Crow,  or  Jim,  or  John, 
Go  in  a  raven  and  come  out  a  SM'an ! 

While  fair  as  Cavendishes,  Vanes,  and  Russels, 
Black  Venus  rises  from  the  soapy  surge, 
And  all  the  little  Niggerlings  emerge 

As  lily-white  as  mussels. 

Sweet  was  the  vision  —  but,  alas ! 

However  in  prospectus  bright  and  sunny, 
To  bring  such  visionary  scenes  to  pass 

One  thing  was  requisite,  and  that  was  —  money ! 
Money,  that  pays  the  laundress  and  her  bills. 
For  socks,  and  collars,  shirts,  and  frills. 
Cravats,  and  kerchiefs  —  money,  without  which 
The  Negroes  must  remain  as  dark  as  pitch ; 

A  thing  to  make  all  Christians  sad  and  shivery. 
To  think  of  millions  of  immortal  souls 
Dwelling  in  bodies  black  as  coals, 

And  Uving  —  so  to  speak  —  in  Satan's  livery ! 


A    BLACK    JOB.  411 

Money  —  the  root  of  evil  —  dross  and  stuff! 

But,  O !  how  happy  ought  the  rich  to  feel, 
Whose  means  enabled  them  to  give  enough 

To  blanch  an  Afiican  from  head  to  heel ! 
How  blessed  —  yea,  thrice  blessed — to  subscribe 

Enough  to  scour  a  tribe  ! 
While  he  whose  fortmie  was  at  best  a  brittle  one, 
Although  he  gave  but  pence,  how  sweet  to  know 
He  helped  to  bleach  a  Hottentot's  great  toe, 
Or  httle  one ! 

Moved  by  this  logic,  or  appalled, 

To  persons  of  a  certain  turn  so  proper, 
The  money  came  when  called, 
In  silver,  gold,  and  copper, 

Presents  from  "  fiiends  to  blacks,"  or  foes  to  whites, 
"  Trifles,"  and  "  offerings,"  and  "  widow's  mites," 
Plump  legacies,  and  yearly  benefactions, 
With  other  gifts 
And  charitable  lifts, 
Printed  in  Usts  and  quarterly  transactions. 
As  thus  —  Elisha  Brettel, 
An  iron  kettle. 
The  Dowager  Lady  Scannel, 
A  piece  of  flannel. 
Rebecca  Pope, 
A  bar  of  soap. 
The  Misses  Howels, 
Half-a-dozen  towels. 
The  Master  Puish's 
Two  scrubbing-brushes. 
Mr.  T.  Groom, 
A  stable-broom, 
And  Mrs.  Grubb, 
A  tub. 


412  A    BLACK    JOB. 

Great  were  the  sums  collected  ! 

And  great  results  in  consequence  expected. 

But  somehow,  in  the  teeth  of  all  endeavor, 

According  to  reports 

At  jearl\-  courts. 
The  Blacks,  confound  them !  were  as  black  as  ever ! 

Yes !  spite  of  all  the  water  soused  aloft. 
Soap,  plain  and  mottled,  hard  and  soft. 
Soda  and  pearlash,  huckaback  and  sand, 
Brooms,  brushes,  palm  of  hand, 
And  scourers  in  the  office  strong  and  clever. 

In  spite  of  all  the  tubbing,  rubbing,  scrubbing, 

The  routing  and  the  grubbing. 
The  Blacks,  confound  them !  were  as  black  as  ever ! 

In  fact,  in  his  perennial  speech. 
The  Chairman  owned  the  Niggers  did  not  bleach, 
As  he  had  hoped, 
From  being  washed  and  soaped, 
A  circumstance  he  named  with  grief  and  pity ; 
But  still  he  had  the  happiness  to  say, 
For  self  and  the  Committee, 
By  persevering  in  the  present  way, 
And  scrubbing  at  the  Blacks  from  day  to  day, 
Although  he  could  not  promise  perfect  white, 
From  certain  symptoms  that  had  come  to  light, 
He  hoped  in  time  to  get  them  gray  ! 

Lulled  by  this  vague  assurance. 

The  friends  and  patrons  of  the  sable  tribe 

Continued  to  subscribe, 
And  waited,  waited  on  with  much  endurance  — 
Many  a  frugal  sister,  thrifty  daughter  — 
Many  a  stinted  widow,  pinching  mother  — 


A    BLACK    JOB.  413 

With  income  by  the  tax  made  somewhat  shorter, 
Still  paid  impUcitly  her  crown  per  quarter, 
Only  to  hear,  as  every  year  came  round. 
That  Mr.  Treasurer  had  spent  her  pound  ; 
And  as  she  loved  her  sable  brother, 
That  Mr.  Treasurer  must  have  another ! 

But,  spite  of  pounds  or  guineas. 

Instead  of  giving  any  hint 

Of  turning  to  a  neutral  tint. 
The  plaguy  Negroes  and  their  piccaninnies 
Were  still  the  color  of  the  bird  that  caws  — 

Only  some  very  aged  souls, 
Showing  a  little  gray  upon  theii-  polls, 
Like  daws  ! 

However,  nothings  dashed 

By  such  repeated  failures,  or  abashed. 

The  Court  still  met ; — the  Chairman  and  Directors, 
The  Secretary,  good  at  pen  and  ink, 
The  worthy  Treasurer,  who  kept  the  chink, 
And  all  the  cash  Collectors  ; 

With  hundreds  of  that  class,  so  kindly  credulous, 
Without  whose  help  no  charlatan  alive 
Or  Bubble  Company  could  hope  to  thrive, 

Or  busy  Chevalier,  however  sedulous  — 

Those  good  and  easy  innocents,  in  fact, 
Who,  willingly  recei\'ing  chaff  for  corn, 

As  ])ointed  out  by  Butler's  tact. 

Still  find  a  secret  pleasure  in  the  act 
Of  being  plucked  and  shorn  ! 

However,  in  long  hundreds  there  they  were. 
Thronging  the  hot,  and  close,  and  dusty  court, 
35* 


414  A   BLACK    JOB. 

To  hear  once  more  addresses  from  the  Chair, 
And  regular  Report. 

Alas  !  concluding  in  the  usual  strain, 

That  what  with  everlasting  wear  and  tear, 
The  scrubbing-bruslies  hadn't  got  a  hair  — 

The  brooms  —  mere  stumps  —  would  never  serve  again — 

The  soap  was  gone,  the  flannels  all  in  shreds. 
The  towels  worn  to  threads, 

The  tubs  and  pails  too  shattered  to  be  mended  — 
And  what  was  added  with  a  deal  of  pain, 
But  as  accounts  correctly  would  explain, 

Though  thirty  thousand  pounds  had  been  expended  — 
The  Blackamoors  had  still  been  washed  in  vain ! 

"  In  fact,  the  Negroes  were  as  black  as  ink, 
Yet,  still  as  the  Committee  dared  to  think, 
And  hoped  the  proposition  was  not  rash, 
A  rather  free  expenditure  of  cash  —  " 
But  ere  the  prospect  could  be  made  more  sunny  — 
Up  jumped  a  little,  lemon-colored  man, 
And  with  an  eager  stammer,  thus  began. 
In  angry  earnest,  though  it  sounded  funny  : 
"  What !  More  subscriptions  !  No  —  no  —  no,  —  not  1 ! 
You  have  had  time  —  time  —  time  enough  to  try ! 
They  won't   come  white!   then   why  —  why  —  why  — 
why  —  why. 
More  money  ?  " 

"  Why  ! "  said  the  Chairman,  with  an  accent  bland. 

And  gentle  wa^^ng  of  his  dexter  hand, 

"  Why  must  we  have  more  dross,  and  dirt,  and  dust, 

More  filthy  lucre,  in  a  word  moi'e  gold  — 

The  Avhy,  sir,  very  easily  is  told. 
Because  Hmnanity  declares  we  must ! 


ODE    TO    RAE    -WILSON,    ESaUIllE.  415 

We've  scrubbed  the  Negroes  till  we've  nearly  killed  'em, 
And,  finding  that  we  cannot  wash  them  white, 
But  still  their  nigritude  offends  the  sight, 
We  mean  to  gild  'em .' " 


ODE   TO   RAE  WILSON,  ESQUIRE. 

"  Close,  close  your  eyes  with  holy  dread, 
And  weave  a  circle  round  him  thrice ; 
For  he  on  honey-dew  hath  fed. 
And  drunk  the  milk  of  Paradise ! "  —  CoLEElDaE 

"  It's  very  hard  them  kind  of  men 
Won't  let  a  body  be."  —  Old  Ballad. 

A  WANDERER,  Wilson,  from  my  native  land, 
Remote,  O  Rae,  from  godliness  and  thee, 
Where  rolls  betAveen  us  the  eternal  sea, 
Besides  .some  furlongs  of  a  foreign  sand,  — 
Beyond  the  broadest  Scotch  of  London  Wall ; 
Beyond  the  loudest  Saint  that  has  a  call ; 
Across  the  wavy  waste  between  us  stretched, 
A  friendly  missive  warns  me  of  a  stricture, 
Wherein  my  likeness  you  have  darkly  etched, 
And  though  I  have  not  seen  the  shadow  sketched, 
Thus  I  remark  prophetic  on  the  picture. 

I  guess  the  features  :  —  in  a  line  to  paint 

Their  moral  ugliness,  I'm  not  a  saint. 

Not  one  of  those  self-constituted  saints, 

Quacks  —  not  physicians  —  in  the  cm-e  of  souls. 

Censors  who  sniff  out  moral  taints. 

And  call  the  devil  over  liis  own  coals  — 

Those  pseudo  Privy  Councillors  of  God, 

Who  write  down  j  udgments  with  a  pen  hard-nibbed  ; 


416  ODE    TO    RAE    WILSON,    ESQUIRE. 

Ushers  of  Beelzebub's  Black  Rod, 
Commending  sinners  not  to  ice  thick-ribbed, 
But  endless  flames,  to  scorch  them  like  flax,  — 
Yet  sure  of  heaven  themselves,  as  if  they'd  cribbed 
The  impression  of  St.  Peter's  keys  in  wax ! 

Of  such  a  character  no  single  trace 

Exists,  I  know,  in  my  fictitious  face ; 

There  wants  a  certain  cast  about  the  eye  ; 

A  certain  lifting  of  the  nose's  tip ; 

A  certain  cm-ling  of  the  nether  lip, 

In  scorn  of  all  that  is,  beneath  the  sky ; 

In  brief,  it  is  an  aspect  deleterious, 

A  face  decidedly  not  serious, 

A  face  profane,  that  would  not  do  at  all 

To  make  a  face  at  Exeter  Hall,  — 

That  Hall  where  bigots  rant,  and  cant,  and  pray, 

And  laud  each  other  face  to  face, 

Till  every  farthing-candle  ray 

Conceives  itself  a  great  gas-light  of  grace  ! 

Well !  —  be  the  graceless  lineaments  confest ! 
I  do  enjoy  this  bounteous  beauteous  earth; 

And  dote  upon  a  jest 
"  Within  the  limits  of  becoming  mirth  ; "  — 
No  solemn  sanctimonious  face  I  pull, 
Nor  think  I'm  pious  when  I'm  only  bilious  — 
Nor  study  in  my  sanctum  supercilious 
To  frame  a  Sabbath  Bill  or  forge  a  Bull. 
I  pray  for  grace  —  repent  each  sinful  act  — 
Peruse,  but  underneath  the  rose,  my  Bible ; 
And  love  my  neighbor,  far  too  well,  in  fact, 
To  call  and  twit  him  with  a  godly  tract 
That's  turned  by  appUcation  to  a  Hbel. 
My  heart  ferments  not  with  the  bigot's  leaven, 


ODE    TO    RAE    AVILSOX,    ESQUIRE.  417 


All  creeds  I  viev/  vnth.  toleration  thorough, 
And  have  a  horror  of  regarding  heaven 
As  any  body's  rotten  borough. 


What  else  ?     No  part  I  take  in  party  fray, 

With  tropes  from  Billingsgate's  slang-whanging  Tartars, 

I  fear  no  Pope  —  and  let  great  Ernest  play 

At  Fox  and  Goose  vnth  Fox's  Martyrs ! 

I  own  I  laugh  at  over-righteous  men, 

I  own  I  shake  my  sides  at  ranters, 

And  treat  sham  Abr'am  saints  with  wicked  banters  ; 

I  even  own,  that  there  are  times  —  but  then 

It's  when  I've  got  my  wine  —  I  say  d canters  ! 

I've  no  ambition  to  enact  the  spy 

On  fellow-souls,  a  spiritual  Pry  — 

'Tis  said  that  people  ought  to  guard  their  noses 

Who  thrust  them  into  matters  none  of  theirs  : 

And,  though  no  delicacy  discomposes 

Your  saint,  yet  I  consider  faith  and  prayers 

Amongst  the  privatest  of  men's  affairs. 

I  do  not  hash  the  Gospel  in  my  books. 
And  thus  upon  the  public  mind  intrude  it, 
As  if  I  thought,  like  Otaheitan  cooks, 
No  food  was  fit  to  eat  till  I  had  chewed  it. 

On  Bible  stilts  I  don't  aifect  to  stalk ; 

Nor  lard  with  Scripture  my  familiar  talk,  — 

For  man  may  pious  texts  repeat, 
And  yet  religion  have  no  inward  seat ; 
'Tis  not  so  plain  as  the  old  Hill  of  Howth, 
A  man  has  got  his  belly  full  of  meat 
Because  he  talks  with  victuals  in  his  mouth ! 

Mere  verbiage,  —  it  is  not  worth  a  caiTot ! 
Why,  Socrates  or  Plato  —  where's  the  odds  ?  — v 


418  ODE    TO    KAE    AVILSOX,    ESQUIRE. 

Once  taught  a  Jay  to  supplicate  the  gods, 
And  made  a  Polly-theist  of  a  Parrot ! 

A  mere  professor,  spite  of  all  his  cant,  is 

Not  a  whit  better  than  a  Mantis,  — 
An  insect,  of  what  clime  I  can't  determ'ine. 
That  lifts  its  paws  most  parson-like,  and  thence, 
By  simple  savages  —  through  sheer  pretence  — 
Is  reckoned  quite  a  saint  amongst  the  vermin. 
But  wliere's  the  reverence,  or  where  the  7ioiis, 
To  ride  on  one's  religion  through  the  lobby. 
Whether  as  stalking-horse  or  hobby, 
To  show  its  pious  paces  to  "  the  house." 

I  honestly  confess  that  I  M'ould  hinder 
The  Scottish  member's  legislative  rigs, 

That  spiritual  Pindar, 
Who  looks  on  erring  souls  as  straying  pigs, 
That  must  be  lashed  by  law,  wherever  found. 
And  driven  to  church  as  to  the  parish  pound.  . 
I  do  confess,  without  reserve  or  wheedle, 
I  view  that  grovelling  idea  as  one 
Worthy  some  parish  clerk's  ambitious  son, 
A  charity-boy  who  longs  to  be  a  beadle. 
On  such  a  vital  topic  sure  'tis  odd 
How  much  a  man  can  differ  from  his  neighbor ; 
One  wishes  worship  freely  given  to  God, 
Another  wants  to  make  it  statute-labor  — 
The  broad  distinction  in  a  line  to  draw. 
As  means  to  lead  us  to  the  skies  above. 
You  say  —  Sir  Andrew  and  his  love  of  law, 
And  I  —  the  Saviour  with  his  law  of  love. 

Spontaneously  to  God  should  tend  the  soul. 
Like  the  magnetic  needle  to  the  Pole  ; 


ODE    TO    RAE    M'lLSON,    ESQUIRE.  419 

But  what  were  that  intrinsic  virtue  worth, 

Suppose  some  fellow,  with  more  zeal  than  knowledge, 

Fresh  from  St.  Andrew's  college. 
Should  nail  the  conscious  needle  to  the  north  ? 
I  do  confess  that  I  abhor  and  shrink 
From  schemes,  Avith  a  religious  willy-nilly. 
That  frown  upon  St.  Giles's  sins,  but  blinli 
The  peccadilloes  of  all  Piccadilly  — 
My  soul  revolts  at  such  bare  hypocrisy, 
And  will  not,  dare  not,  fancy  in  accord 
The  Lord  of  Hosts  with  an  exclusive  lord 
Of  this  world's  aristocracy. 
It  will  not  own  a  notion  so  unholy, 
As  thinking  that  the  rich  by  easy  trips 
May  go  to  heaven,  whereas  the  poor  and  lowly 
Must  work  their  ])assage,  as  they  do  in  ships. 

One  place  there  is  —  beneath  the  burial-sod, 
Where  all  mankind  are  equalized  by  death ; 
Another  place  there  is  —  the  Fane  of  God, 
Where  all  are  equal  who  draw  Hving  breath ;  — 
Juggle  who  will  elsewhere  with  his  own  soul, 
Plajing  the  Judas  with  a  temjjoral  dole  — 
He  who  can  come  beneath  that  awful  cope. 
In  the  dread  presence  of  a  ]\Iaker  just. 
Who  metes  to  every  pinch  of  human  dust 
One  even  measure  of  immortal  hope  — 
He  who  can  stand  within  that  holy  door, 
With  soul  unbowed  by  tliat  pure  spirit-level. 
And  frame  unequal  laws  for  rich  and  poor,  — 
Might  sit  for  Hell,  and  represent  the  Devil ! 

Such  are  the  solemn  sentiments,  O  Rae, 
In  your  last  journey-work,  perchance,  you  ravage, 
Seeming,  but  in  more  courtly  terms,  to  say 
I'm  but  a  heedless,  creedless,  godless,  savage  ; 


420  ODE    TO    RAE    AVILSON,    ESQUIRE. 

A  very  Guy,  deserving  fire  and  fagots,  — 

A  scoffer,  always  on  the  grin, 
And  sadly  given  to  the  mortal  sin 
Of  liking  Mawworms  less  than  merry  maggots  ! 

The  humble  records  of  my  life  to  search, 

I  have  not  herded  with  mere  pagan  beasts  ; 

But  sometimes  I  have  "  sat  at  good  men's  feasts," 

And  I  have  been  "  where  bells  have  knollcd  to  church." 

Dear  bells !  how  sweet  the  sound  of  village  bells 

When  on  the  undulating  air  they  swim  ! 

Now  loud  as  welcomes  !  faint,  now,  as  farewells  ! 

And  trembling  all  about  the  breezy  dells, 

As  fluttered  by  the  wings  of  Cherubim. 

Meanwhile  the  bees  are  chanting  a  low  hymn ; 

And  lost  to  sight  the  ecstatic  lark  above 

Sings,  like  a  soul  beatified,  of  love. 

With,  now  and  then,  the  coo  of  the  wild  pigeon  :  — 

O  pagans,  heathens,  infidels,  and  doubters ! 

If  such  sweet  sounds  can't  woo  you  to  religion. 

Will  the  harsh  voices  of  church  cads  and  touters  ? 

A  man  may  cry  Church  !  Church !  at  every  word, 
With  no  more  piety  than  other  people  — 
A  daw's  not  reckoned  a  religious  bird 
Because  it  keeps  a-cawing  from  a  steeple ; 
The  Temple  is  a  good,  a  holy  jjhce. 
But  quacking  onlj-  gives  it  an  ill  savor  ; 
While  saintly  mountebanks  the  porch  disgrace, 
And  bring  religion's  self  into  disia\-or ! 

Behold  yon  servitor  of  God  and  jVIammon, 
Who,  binding  up  his  Bible  with  his  ledger, 
Blends  Gospel  texts  with  trading  gammon, 
A  black-leg  saint,  a  spiiitual  hedger. 


ODE    TO    RAE    WILSON,    ESQUIRE,  421 

Who  backs  his  rigid  Sabbath,  so  to  speak, 
Against  the  ^vickecl  remnant  of  the  week, 
A  saving  bet  against  his  siirful  bias  — 
"  Rogue  that  I  am,"  he  whispers  to  liimself, 
"  I  lie  —  I  cheat  —  do  any  thing  for  pelf, 
But  who  on  earth  can  say  I  am  not  pious ! " 

In  proof  how  over-righteousness  reacts. 

Accept  an  anecdote  well  based  on  facts ; 

On  Sunday  morning  —  (at  the  day  don't  fret)  — 

In  riding  with  a  friend  to  Ponder's  End, 

Outside  the  stage,  we  happened  to  commend 

A  certain  mansion  that  we  saw  To  Let. 

"  Ay,"  cried  our  coachman,  with  cm-  tallc  to  grapple, 

"  You're  right !  no  house  along  the  road  comes  mgh  it ! 

Twas  built  by  the  same  man  as  built  yon  chapel. 
And  master  wanted  once  to  buy  it,  — 

But  t'other  driv  the  bargain  much  too  hard,  — 
He  axed  sure-Zy  a  sum  prodigious  ! 

But  being  so  particular  religious, 

Why,  that,  you  see,  put  master  on  his  guard ! " 
Church  is  "  a  little  heaven  below, 
I  have  been  there,  and  still  would  go,"  — 

Yet  I  am  none  of  those  who  think  it  odd 

A  man  can  pray  unbidden  from  the  cassock, 
And,  passing  by  the  customary  hassock, 

Kneel  down  remote  upon  the  simple  sod, 

And  sue  in  forma  pauperis  to  God. 

x\s  for  the  rest,  —  intolerant  to  none, 
Whatever  shape  the  pious  rite  may  bear, 
Even  the  poor  pagan's  homage  to  the  sun 
I  would  not  harshly  scorn,  lest  even  there 
I  spurned  some  elements  of  Christian  prayer  — 
An  aim,  though  erring,  at  a  "  world  ayont  "  — 
36 


422  ODE    TO    llAE    AVILSON,    ESaUIRE. 

Acknowledgment  of  good  —  of  man's  futility, 
A  sense  of  need,  and  weakness,  and  indeed 
That  very  thing  so  many  Christians  want  — 

Humility. 

Such,  mito  Papists,  Jews,  or  Turbaned  Turks, 
Such  is  my  spirit  —  (I  don't  mean  my  wraith  !) 
Such,  may  it  please  you,  is  my  humble  faith  ; 
I  know,  full  well,  you  do  not  like  my  works  ! 

I  have  not  sought,  'tis  true,  the  Holy  Land, 
As  full  of  texts  as  Cuddle  Hedrigg's  mother, 

The  Bible  in  one  hand. 
And  my  own  commonplace-book  in  the  other  — 
But  you  have  been  to  Palestine  —  alas  ! 
Some  minds  improve  by  travel  —  others,  rather, 

Resemble  copper  wire  or  brass. 
Which  gets  the  narrower  by  going  further ! 

Worthless  are  all  such  pilgrimages  —  very  ! 
If  Palmers  at  the  Holy  Tomb  contrive 
The  human  heats  and  rancor  to  revive 
That  at  the  Sepulchre  they  ought  to  bury. 
A  sorry  sight  it  is  to  rest  the  eye  on, 
To  see  a  Christian  creature  graze  at  Sion, 
Then  homeward,  of  the  saintly  pasture  full, 
Rush  bellowing,  and  breathing  fire  and  smoke, 
At  crippled  Papistry  to  butt  and  poke. 
Exactly  as  a  skittish  Scottish  bull 
Haunts  an  old  woman  in  a  scarlet  cloak. 

Why  leave  a  serious,  moral,  pious  home, 
Scotland,  renowned  for  sanctity  of  old, 
Far  distant  Catholics  to  rate  and  scold 
For  —  doing  as  the  Romans  do  at  Rome  ? 


ODE   TO    RAE    WILSOX,    ESQUIRE.  423 

With  such  a  bristling  spii-it  wherefore  quit 
The  Land  of  Cakes  for  any  land  of  wafers, 
About  the  graceless  images  to  flit, 
And  buzz  and  chafe  importunate  as  chafers, 
Longing  to  carve  the  carvers  to  Scotch  eoUops  ?  — 
People  who  hold  such  absolute  opinions 
Should  stay  at  home  in  Protestant  dominions, 
Not  travel  like  male  Mrs.  TroUopes. 

Gifted  with  noble  tendency  to  cUmb, 
Yet  weak  at  the  same  time. 
Faith  is  a  kind  of  parasitic  plant, 
That  grasps  the  nearest  stem  ■svith  tendril  rings ; 
And  as  the  cUmate  and  the  soil  may  grant, 
So  is  the  sort  of  tree  to  which  it  clings. 
Consider,  then,  before,  like  Hurlothi-umbo, 
You  aim  your  club  at  any  creed  on  earth. 
That,  by  the  simple  accident  of  birth, 
You  might  have  been  High  Priest  to  Mumbo  Jumbo. 

For  me  —  through  heathen  ignorance  perchance, 

Not  having  knelt  in  Palestine,  —  I  feel 

None  of  that  griffinish  excess  of  zeal 

Some  travellers  would  blaze  with  here  in  France. 

Dolls  I  can  see  in  Virgin-lilie  array, 

Nor  for  a  scuffle  with  the  idols  hanker 

Like  craz}-  Quixotte  at  the  puppet's  play, 

If  their  "  offence  be  rank,"  should  mine  be  rancor  ? 

MUd  hght,  and  by  degrees,  should  be  the  plan 
To  cure  the  dark  and  erring  mind ; 
But  who  would  rush  at  a  benighted  man, 
And  give  him  two  black  eyes  for  being  blind  ? 

Suppose  the  tender  but  luxuriant  hop 
Around  a  cankered  stem  should  twine, 


424  ODE    TO    KAE    WILSOX,    ESQUIHE. 

What  Kentish  boor  would  tear  away  the  prop 
So  roughly  as  to  wound,  nay,  kill  the  bine  ? 

The  images,  'tis  true,  are  strangely  dressed, 

With  gauds  and  toys  extremely  out  of  season ; 

The  carving  nothing  of  the  very  best, 

The  whole  re])ugnant  to  the  eye  of  Reason, 

Shocking  to  Taste,  and  to  Fine  Ails  a  treason  — 

Yet  ne'er  o'erlook  in  bigotry  of  sect 

One  truly  Catholic,  one  common  form. 

At  which  unchecked 
All  Christian  hearts  may  kindle  or  keep  warm. 

Say,  was  it  to  my  spirit's  gain  or  loss, 

One  bright  and  balmy  moi-ning,  as  I  went 

From  Liege's  lovely  environs  to  Ghent, 

If  hard  by  the  wayside  I  found  a  cross. 

That  made  me  breathe  a  prayer  upon  the  si^ot  — 

While  Natm-e  of  herself,  as  if  to  ti-ace 

The  emblem's  use,  had  trailed  around  its  base 

The  blue  significant  Forget-Me-Xot  ? 

Methought,  the  claims  of  Chaiity  to  urge 

More  forcibly  along  with  Faith  and  Hope, 

The  pious  choice  had  pitched  upon  the  verge 

Of  a  delicious  slope, 
Gidng  the  eye  much  variegated  scope !  — 
"  Look  round,"  it  whispered,  "  on  that  prospect  rai'e. 
Those  vales  so  verdant,  and  those  hills  so  blue  ; 
Enjoy  the  sunny  world,  so  fresh  and  fair. 
But" —  (how  the  simple  legend  pierced  me  through!) 

"  Prikz  pour  les  Maliieureux." 

With  sweet  kind  natures,  as  in  honeyed  cells, 

Rchgion  lives,  and  feels  herself  at  home ; 

But  only  on  a  formal  visit  dwells 

Where  wasps  instead  of  bees  have  formed  the  comb. 


ODE    TO    R.VE    "WILSOX,    ESQUIRE.  425 

Shun  pride,  0  Rae  !  —  whatever  sort  beside 
You  take  in  lieu,  shun  spuitual  pride ! 
A  pride  there  is  of  rank  —  a  pride  of  bu-th, 
A  pride  of  learning,  and  a  jnide  of  purse, 
A  London  pride  —  in  short,  there  be  on  earth 
A  host  of  prides,  some  better  and  some  worse ; 
But  of  all  prides,  smce  Lucifer's  attaint. 
The  proudest  swells  a  self-elected  Samt. 

To  picture  that  cold  pride  so  harsh  and  hai'd, 
Fancy  a  peacock  in  a  poultry-yard. 
Behold  him  in  conceited  circles  sail. 
Strutting  and  dancing,  and  now  planted  stiff, 
In  all  his  pomp  of  pageantry,  as  if 
He  felt  "  the  eyes  of  Europe  "  on  his  tail ! 
As  for  the  humble  breed  retained  by  man, 
He  sconis  the  whole  domestic  clan  — 
He  bows,  he  bridles. 
He  wheels,  he  sidles, 
As  last,  with  stately  dodgings  in  a  corner, 
He  pens  a  simple  russet  hen,  to  scorn  her 
Full  in  the  blaze  of  his  resplendent  fan ! 

"  Look  here,"  he  cries,  (to  give  him  words,) 

"  Thou  feathered  claj',  —  thou  scum  of  bii'ds  !  " 
Flirting  the  rustling  phmiage  in  her  eyes,  — 

"  Look  here,  thou  vile  predestined  sinner. 

Doomed  to  be  roasted  for  a  dinner. 
Behold  these  lovely  variegated  dyes  ! 
These  are  the  rainbow  colors  of  the  skies, 
That  lieaven  has  shed  upon  me  con  amove  — 
A  Bird  of  Paradise  ?  —  a  pretty  story ! 
7  am  that  Saintly  Fowl,  thou  paltry  chick! 

Look  at  ray  crown  of  glory  ! 
Thou  duigy,  dirty,  dabbled,  draggled  jill ! " 
36* 


426  ODE    TO    RAE    WILSON,    ESQUIRE. 

And  off  goes  Partlett,  wriggling  from  a  kick, 
With  bleeding  scalp  laid  open  by  his  bill ! 

That  little  simile  exactly  paints 
How  sinners  are  despised  by  saints. 
By  saints  !  —  the  Hypocrites  that  ope  heaven's  door 
Obsequious  to  the  sinful  man  of  riches  — 
But  put  the  wicked,  naked,  bare-legged  poor, 
In  parish  stocks,  instead  of  breeches. 

The  Saints  ?  —  the  Bigots  that  in  'public  spout, 
Spread  phosphorus  of  zeal  on  scraps  of  fustian, 
And  go  like  walking  "  Lucifers  "  about, 
Mere  living  bundles  of  combustion. 

The  Saints !  —  the  aping  Fanatics  that  talk 
All  cant  and  rant  and  rhapsodies  high  flo^vn  — 

That  bid  you  balk 

A  Sunday  walk. 
And  shun  God's  work  as  you  should  shun  your  own. 

The  Saints  !  —  the  Formalists,  the  extra  pious. 
Who  think  the  mortal  husk  can  save  the  soul, 
By  trundling,  with  a  mere  mechanic  bias. 
To  church,  just  like  a  lignum-\itae  bowl! 

The  Saints !  —  the  Pharisees,  whose  beadle  stands 

Beside  a  stern  coercive  kirk, 

A  piece  of  human  mason-work, 
Calling  all  sermons  contrabands. 
In  that  great  Temple  that's  not  made  with  hands  ! 

Thrice  blessed,  rather,  is  the  man  with  whom 
The  gracious  prodigality  of  nature, 
The  balm,  the  bliss,  the  beauty,  and  the  bloom, 
The  bounteous  providence  in  every  feature. 
Recall  the  good  Creator  to  his  creature, 
Making  all  earth  a  fane,  all  heaven  its  dome ! 


ODE    TO    RAE    WILSON,    ESaUIRE.  427 

To  his  tuned  spirit  the  wild  heather-bells 

Ring  Sabbath  knells  ; 
The  jubilate  of  the  soaring  lark 

Is  chant  of  clerk  ; 
For  Choir,  the  thrush  and  the  gregarious  linnet ; 
The  sod's  a  cusliion  for  his  pious  want ; 
And,  consecrated  by  the  heaven  within  it, 
The  sky-blue  pool,  a  font. 
Each  cloud-capped  mountain  is  a  holy  altai" ; 

An  organ  breathes  in  every  gi'ove  ; 

And  the  full  heart's  a  Psalter, 
Rich  in  deep  hymns  of  gratitude  and  love  ! 

Sufficiently  by  stem  necessitarians 

Poor  Nature,  with  her  face  begrimed  by  dust, 

Is  stoked,  coked,  smoked,  and  almost  choked ;  but  must 

Rehgion  have  its  own  Utilitarians, 

Labelled  with  evangelical  phylacteries, 

To  make  the  road  to  heaven  a  railway  trust. 

And  churches  —  that's  the  naked  fact  —  mere  factories  ? 

O  !  simply  open  wide  the  temple  door. 
And  let  the  solemn,  swelling  organ  greet, 

With  Voluntaries  meet. 
The  loilling  advent  of  the  rich  and  poor ! 
And  while  to  God  the  loud  Hosannas  soar, 
With  rich  vibrations  from  the  vocal  throng  — 
From  quiet  shades  that  to  the  woods  belong, 

And  brooks  with  music  of  their  own, 
Voices  may  come  to  swell  the  choral  song 
With  notes  of  praise  they  learned  in  musings  lone. 

How  strange  it  is,  while  on  all  vital  questions, 

That  occupy  the  House  and  public  mind, 

We  always  meet  with  some  humane  suggestions 


428  ODE    TO    RAE    AYILSON,    ESQUIRE. 

Of  gentle  measures  of  a  healing  kind, 
Instead  of  harsh  severity  and  vigor, 
The  saint  alone  his  preference  retains 
For  bills  of  penalties  and  pains, 
And  marks  his  narrow  code  with  legal  rigor  ! 
Why  shun,  as  worthless  of  aihliation, 
What  men  of  all  political  persuasion 
Extol  —  and  even  use  upon  occasion  — 
That  Christian  principle,  conciliation  ? 
But  possibly  the  men  who  make  such  fuss 
With  Sunday  pippins  and  old  Trots  infom, 
Attach  some  other  meaning  to  the  term. 
As  thus : 

One  market  morning,  in  my  usual  rambles, 
Passhig  along  Whitechapel's  ancient  shambles. 
Where  meat  was  hung  in  many  a  joint  and  quarter, 
I  had  to  halt  a  wliile,  like  other  follis, 

To  let  a  killing  butcher  coax 
A  score  of  lambs  and  fatted  sheep  to  slaughter. 
A  sturdy  man  he  looked  to  fell  an  ox, 
Bull-fronted,  ruddy,  with  a  formal  streak 
Of  well-greased  hair  down  either  cheek. 
As  if  he  dee-dashed-dee'd  some  other  flocks 
Besides  those  woolly-headed  stubborn  blocks 
That  stood  before  him,  in  vexatious  huddle  — 
Poor  little  lambs,  with  bleating  wethers  grouped. 
While,  now  and  then,  a  thirsty  creature  stooped 
And  meekly  snuffed,  but  did  not  taste  the  puddle. 

Fierce  barked  the  dog,  and  many  a  blow  Avas  dealt. 
That  loin,  and  chump,  and  scrag,  and  saddle  felt, 
Yet  still,  that  fatal  step  they  all  decUned  it,  — 
And  shunned  the  tainted  door  as  if  they  smelt 
Onions,  mint-sauce,  and  lemon-juice  behind  it. 


ODE    TO    R-VE    WILSON,    ESQUIRE.  429 

At  last  there  came  a  pause  of  brutal  force ; 

The  cur  was  silent,  for  his  jaws  were  full 

Of  tangled  locks  of  tarry  wool ; 
The  man  had  whooped  and  bellowed  till  dead  hoarse, 
The  time  was  rijjc  for  mild  expostulation. 
And  thus  it  stammered  from  a  stander-by  — 
"  Zounds !  —  ray  good  fellow,  —  it  quite  makes  me  —  why 
It  really  —  my  deai"  fellow  —  do  just  try 
Conciliation  ! " 

Stringing  his  nerves  like  flint, 
The  sturdy  butcher  seized  ujjon  the  hint,  — 
At  least  he  seized  upon  the  foremost  wether,  — 
And  hugged  and  lugged  and  tugged  him  neck  and  crop 
Just  nolens  voleas  through  the  open  shop  — 
If  tails  come  off  he  didn't  care  a  feather,  — 
Then  walking  to  the  door,  and  smiling  grim, 
He  rubbed  his  forehead  and  his  sleeve  together  — 

"  There  !  —  I've  c'07iciHated  him  !  " 

Again  —  good-humoredly  to  end  our  quarrel  — 
(Good  humor  should  prevail !) 
I'll  fit  you  with  a  tale 
Whereto  is  tied  a  moral. 

Once  on  a  time  a  certain  English  lass 

Was  seized  with  symptoms  of  such  deep  decline, 

Cough,  hectic  flushes,  every  e\\\  sign, 

That,  as  theii-  wont  is  at  such  desperate  pass. 

The  doctors  gave  her  over  —  to  an  ass. 

Accordingly,  the  grisly  Shade  to  bilk. 

Each  morn  the  patient  quaff"ed  a  frothy  bowl 

Of  asinine  new  milk. 
Robbing  a  shaggy  suckling  of  a  foal 


430  •*■    TABLE    OF    ERRATA. 

AVhich  got  proportionably  spare  and  skinny  — 
Meanwhile  the  neighbors  cried  "  Poor  Mary  Ann  ! 
She  can't  get  over  it !  she  never  can  !  " 
"When,  lo  !  to  prove  each  prophet  was  a  ninny, 
The  one  that  died  was  the  poor  wet-nurse  Jenny. 

To  aggravate  the  case, 
There  were  but  two  grown  donkeys  in  the  place ; 
And,  most  unlucluly  for  Eve's  sick  daughter, 
The  other  long-eared  creature  was  a  male, 
Who  never  in  his  life  had  given  a  pail 

Of  milk,  or  even  chalk  and  water. 
No  matter  :  at  the  usual  hour  of  eight 
Down  trots  a  donkey  to  the  wicket-gate, 
With  Mister  Simon  Gubbins  on  his  back,  — 
"  Your  sarvant,  Miss,  —  a  werry  spring-like  day,  — 
Bad  time  for  basses,  though !  good  lack !  good  lack ! 
Jenny  be  dead.  Miss,  —  but  I'ze  brought  ye  Jack,  — 
He  doesn't  give  no  milk  —  but  he  can  bray." 

So  runs  the  story, 

And,  in  vain  self-glor}', 
Some  Saints  would  sneer  at  Gubbins  for  his  blindness  ; 
But  what  the  better  are  their  pious  saws 
To  ailing  souls,  than  dry  hee-haws, 
Without  the  milk  of  human  kindness  ? 


A  TABLE   OF  ERRATA. 

(Hostess  loquitur.) 

Well  !  thanks  be  to  Heaven, 
The  summons  is  given  ; 
It's  only  gone  seven, 

And  should  have  been  six ; 


A    TABLE    OF    ERRATA.  431 

There's  fine  overdoing 
In  roasting  and  stewing, 
And  ^'ictuals  past  cheA\ing 
To  rags  and  to  sticks ! 

How  dreadfully  chilly ! 
I  shake,  willy-nilly ; 
That  John  is  so  silly, 

And  never  will  learn 
This  plate  is  a  cold  one. 
That  cloth  is  an  old  one,  — 
I  msh  they  had  told  one 

The  lamp  wouldn't  bum. 

Now  then  for  some  blunder 
For  ner\^es  to  sink  under  : 
I  never  shall  wonder, 

Whatever  goes  ill. 
That  fish  is  a  riddle  ! 
It's  broke  in  the  middle. 
ATurbot!  a  fiddle ! 

It's  only  a  Brill ! 

It's  quite  over-boiled  too, 
The  butter  is  oiled  too. 
The  soap  is  all  spoiled  too, 

It's  nothing  but  slop. 
The  smelts  looking  flabby. 
The  soles  are  as  dabby. 
It  all  is  so  shabby 

That  Cook  shall  not  stop  ! 

As  sure  as  the  morning. 
She  gets  a  month's  warning. 
My  orders  for  scorning  — 
There's  nothing  to  eat ! 


432  A.    TAliLE    OF    ERRATA. 

I  hear  such  a  rushing, 

I  feel  such  a  flushing, 

I  know  I  am  blushing 

As  red  as  a  beet ! 

Friends  flatter  and  flatter, 
I  wish  they  would  chatter ; 
What  can  be  the  matter 

That  nothing  comes  next  ? 
How  very  unpleasant ! 
Lord !  there  is  the  pheasant ! 
Not  wanted  at  present, 

I'm  born  to  be  vext ! 

The  pudding  brought  on  too. 
And  aiming  at  ton  too  ! 
And  where  is  that  John  too, 

The  plague  that  he  is  ? 
He's  off'  on  some  ramble  : 
And  there  is  Miss  Campbell, 
Enjoying  the  scramble, 

Detestable  Quiz! 

The  veal  they  all  eye  it. 
But  no  one  will  try  it, 
An  Ogre  would  shy  it 

So  rudely  as  that ! 
And  as  for  the  mutton, 
The  cold  dish  it's  put  on 
Converts  to  a  button 

Each  cbop  of  the  fat. 

The  beef  without  mustard ! 
My  fate's  to  be  flustered, 
And  there  comes  the  custard 
To  eat  with  the  hare  ! 


A    TABLE    QF    ETlllATA,  433 

Such  flesh,  fowl,  and  fishing, 
Such  waiting  and  dishing, 
I  cannot  help  wishing 
A  woman  might  swear ! 

0  dear  !  did  I  ever  — 
But  no,  I  did  never  — 
AVell,  come,  that  is  clever, 

To  send  up  the  brawn  ! 
That  Cook,  I  could  scold  her, 
Oets  worse  as  she's  older  ; 

1  wonder  who  told  her 

That  woodcocks  are  drawn! 

It's  really  audicious ! 
I  cannot  look  gracious  ! 
Lord  help  the  voracious 

That  came  for  a  cram  ! 
There's  Alderman  Fuller 
Gets  duller  and  duller. 
Those  fowls,  by  the  eolor, 

Were  boiled  with  the  ham  I 

Well,  where  is  the  curry  ? 

I'm  all  in  a  flurry. 

No,  Cook's  in  no  hurry  — 

A  stoppage  again ! 
And  John  makes  it  wider, 
A  pretty  pro^dder  I 
By  bringing  up  cider 

Instead  of  champagne ! 

My  troubles  come  faster ! 
There's  my  lord  and  master 
Detects  each  disaster. 

And  hardly  can  sit : 

37 


434         A  BOW  AT  THE  OXFORD  ARMS. 

He  cannot  help  seeing, 
All  things  disagreeing ; 
If  he  begins  d — ing 
I'm  off  in  a  fit ! 

This  cooking  ?  —  it's  messing  \ 
The  spinach  wants  pressing, 
And  salads  in  dressing 

Are  best  with  good  eggs. 
And  John  —  yes,  already  — 
Has  had  something  heady, 
That  makes  him  unsteady 

In  keeping  his  legs. 

How  shall  I  get  through  it  ? 
I  never  can  do  it, 
I'm  quite  looking  to  it. 

To  sink  by  and  by. 
O !  would  I  were  dead  now» 
Or  up  in  my  bed  now, 
To  cover  my  head  now. 

And  have  a  good  cry  ! 


A  EOW  AT  THE   OXFORD   ARMS. 

"Glorious  Apollo  from  on  high  behold  us."  — Old  Song. 

As  latterly  I  chanced  to  pass 
A  Public  House^  from  wliich,  alas  ! 
The  Arms  of  Oxford  dangle  ! 
My  ear  was  startled  by  a  din, 
That  made  me  tremble  in  my  skin,, 
A  dreadful  hubbub  from  Avithin^ 
Of  voices  in  a  wrangle  — 


A    ROW    AT    THE    OXFOllU    ARMS.  435 

Voices  loud,  and  voices  high, 

With  now  and  then  a  party-crj'. 

Such  as  used  in  times  gone  by 

To  scare  the  British  border  : 

When  foes  from  North  and  South  of  Tweed — 

Neighbors  —  and  of  Christian  creed  — 

Met  in  hate  to  fight  and  bleed. 

Upsetting  Social  Order. 

Surjjrised,  I  turned  me  to  the  crowd, 

Attracted  by  that  tumult  loud, 

And  asked  a  gazer,  beetle-browed, 

The  cause  of  such  disquiet. 

When,  lo  !  the  solemn-looldng  man 

First  shook  his  head  on  Burleigh's  plan. 

And  then,  with  fluent  tongue,  began 

His  version  of  the  riot : 

A  row  !  —  wliy,  yes,  —  a  pretty  row,  you   might  hear 

from  this  to  Garmany, 
And  what  is  worse,  it's  all  got  up  among  the  Sons  of 

liai-mony, 
Tlie  more's  the  shame  for  them  as  used  to  be  ui  time  and 

tune. 
And  all  unite  in  chorus  like  the  singing-bh-ds  in  June ! 
Ah !  many  a  pleasant  chant  I've  heard  in  passing  here 

along, 
When  Swivellcr  was  President  a-knocking  dovm  a  song; 
But  Dick's  resigned  the  post,  you  see,  and  all  them  shouts 

and  hollers 
Is  'cause   two    other   cancUdates,   some   sort   of  larncd 

scholars, 
Ai'e  squabbling  to  be  Chairman  of  the  Glorious  Apollers  ! 

Lord  knows  their  names,  I'm  sure  I  don't,  no  more  than 
any  yokel, 


436  ^    1^0"^^'    ''^'^   '^^^^    OXFORD    ARMS. 

But  I  never  heard  of  cither  as  connected  with  the  vocal  5 
Nay,  some  do  say,  although  of  course  the  public  rumor 

varies, 
They've  no  more  warble  in  'em  than  a  pair  of  hen  ca- 
naries ; 
Though  that  might  pass  if  they  were  dabs  at  t'other  sort 

of  thing. 
For  a  man  may  make  a  song,  you  know,  although  he 

cannot  sing ; 
But,  lork !  it's  many  folks'  beHef  they're  only  good  at 

prosing, 
For  Catnach  swears  he  never  saw  a  verse  of  their  com- 
posing ; 
And  when  a  piece  of  poetry  has  stood  its  public  trials, 
If  pop'l-u-,  it  gets  printed  off  at  once  in  Seven  Dials, 
And  thou  about  all  sorts  of  streets,  by  every  Uttle  monkey, 
It's  chanted  like  the  "  Dog's  jVIeat  Man,"  or  "  If  I  had  a 

Donkey." 
Whereas,  as  Mr.  Catnach  says,  and  not  a  bad  judge 

neither. 
No  ballad  worth  a  ha'penny  has  ever  come  from  either, 
And  him  as  writ  "  Jim  Crow,"  he  says,  and  got  such 

lots  of  dollars, 
Would  make  a  better  Chairman  for  the  Glorious  ApoUers. 

Howsomever  that's  the  meaning  of  the  squabble  that 

arouses 
This  neighborhood,  and  quite  disturbs  all  decent  Heads 

of  Houses, 
Who  want  to  have  their  dinners  and  their  parties,  as  is 

reason. 
In  Christian  peace  and  charity  according  to  the  season. 
But  from  Number  Thii'ty-Nhie,  since  this  electioneering 

job, 
A}-,  as  far  as  Number  Ninety,  there's  an  everlasting  mob ; 


A  UOW  AT  THE  OXFORD  AKMS.  437 

Till  the  thing  is  quite  a  nuisance,  for  no  creature  passes  by, 
But  he  gets  a  card,  a  pamphlet,  or  a  summut  in  his  eye ; 
And  a  pretty  noise  there  is  !  — wliat  Avith  canvassers  and 

spouters. 
For  in  course  each  side  is  fiu-nished  with  its  backers  and 

its  touters  ; 
And  sui-ely  among  the  Clergy  to  such  pitches  it  is  cai-- 

ried, 
You  can  hu'dly  find  a  Parson  to  get  buried  or  get  married; 
Or  supposing  any  accident  that  suddenly  alarms, 
If  you're  d\ing  for  a  sm'geon,  you  must  fetch  him  from 

the  "  Arms  :  " 
While  the  Schoolmasters  and  Tooters  are  neglecting  of 

their  scholars, 
To  write  about  a  Chairman  for  the  Glorious  Apollers. 

Well,  that,  sir,  is  the  racket ;  and  the  more  the  sin  and 

shame 
Of  them  that  help    to  stu-  it  up,   and  propagate  the 

same ; 
Instead  of  vocal  ditties,  and  the  social  flowing  cup,  — 
But  they'll  be  the  House's  ruin,  or  the  shuttinc^  of  it  up,  — 
AVith  then-  riots  and  their  hubbubs,  like  a  garden  full  of 

bears, 
Wlule  they've  damaged   many  articles,  and  broken  lots 

of  squares, 
And  kej)t  their  noble  Club  Room  in  a  perfect  dust  and 

smother, 
By  throwing  Morning  Heralds,  Times,  and  Standards 

at  each  other  ; 
Not  to  name  the  ugly  language  Gemmen  ought  n't  to 

repeat, 
And  the  names  they  call   each  other  —  for  I've  heard 

'e;n  in  the  street  — 
37* 


438         A  ROW  AT  THE  OXFORD  ARMS. 

Such   as  Traitors,  Guys,  and   Judases,  and.  Vipers,  and 

what  not, 
For  Pasley  and  his  divers  an't  so  blowing-up  a  lot. 
And  then   such   awful   swearing !  —  for  there's  one  of 

them  that  cusses 
Enough  to   shock   the   cads   that   hang  on   opposition 

'busses  ; 
For  he  cusses  every  member  that's  agin  him  at  the  poll, 
As  I  wouldn't  cuss  a  donkey,  though  it  hasn't  got  a  soul ; 
And  he   cusses  all  their  families.  Jack,  Harry,  Bob,  or 

Jim, 
To  the  babby  in  the  cradle,  if  they  don't  agree  with  him. 
Whereby,  although   as  yet  they  have  not  took  to  use 

their  fives. 
Or,  according  as  the  fashion  is,  to   stickmg  with  their 

knives, 
I'm  bound  there'll  be  some  milling  yet,  and  shakings  by 

the  collars, 
Afore  they  choose  a  Chairman  for  the  Glorious  ApoUers ! 

To  be  sure,  it  is  a  pity  to  be  blowing  such  a  squall, 
Instead  of  clouds,  and  every  man  his  song,  and  then  his 

call  — 
And  as  if  there  was  n't  Whigs  enough  and  Tories  to  fall 

out, 
Besides  politics  in  plenty  for  our  sphts  to  be  about — 
Why,  a  corn-field  is  sufficient,  sir,  as  anybody  knows, 
For  to  furnish  them  in  plenty  who  are  fond  of  picking 

crows  — 
Not  to  name  the  Maynooth  Cathohcs,  and  other  Irish 

stews. 
To  agitate  society  and  loosen  all  its  screws ; 
And  which  all  may  be  agreeable  and  proper  to  their 

spheres,  — 
But  it's  not  the  thing  for  musicals  to  set  us  by  the  ears,. 


A.   ROW  AT  THE  OXFORD  ARMS.  439 

And  as  to  College  laming,  my  opinion  for  to  broach, 
And  I've  had  it  from  ni}-  cousin,  and  he  driv  a  college 

coach, 
And  so  knows  the  University,  and  all  as  there  belongs, 
And  he  says  that  Oxford's  famouser  for  sausages  than 

songs, 
And   seldom   turns  a  poet  out  like  Hudson  that  can 

chant, 
As  well  as  make  such  ditties  as  the  Free  and  Easies 

want, 
Or  other  Tavern  Melodists  I  can't  just  call  to  mind  — 
But  it's  not  the   classic   system   for  to   propagate  the 

kind. 
Whereby  it  so  may  happen  as  that  neither   of  them 

Scholars 
May  be  the  proper  Chairman  for  the  Glorious  Apollers. 

For  my  part  in  the  matter,  if  so  be  I  had  a  voice, 

It's  the  best  among  the  vocalists  I'd  honor  with  the 
choice ; 

Or  a  poet  as  could  furnish  a  new  Ballad  to  the  Bunch ; 

Or,  at  any  rate,  the  surest  hand  at  mixing  of  the  punch ; 

'Cause  why,  the  members  meet  for  that  and  other  tune- 
ful frolics  — 

And  not  to  say,  lilte  Muffincaps,  their  Catichiz  and 
Collec's. 

But  you  see  them  there  Initerants  that  preach  so  long 
and  loud. 

And  always  take  advantage  like  the  i)rigs  of  any  crowd, 

Have  brought  their  jangling  voices,  and  as  far  as  they 
can  compass. 

Have  turned  a  tavern  shmdy  to  a  seriouser  rumpus, 

And  him  as  knows  most  hymns  —  although  I  can't  see 
how  it  follers  — 

They  want  to  be  the  Chairman  of  the  Glorious  Apollers ! 


440  -A-    RO"W    AT    THE    OXFOED    ARMS. 

Well,  that's  the  row  —  and  who  can  guess  the  upshot 

after  all  ? 
Whether  Harmony  will  ever  make  the  "  Arms  "  her 

House  of  call, 
Or  whether  this  here  mobbing  —  as  some  longish  heads 

foretell  it, 
Will  grow  to  such  a  riot  that  the  Oxford  Blues  must 

quell  it, 
Howsomever,  for  the  present,  there's  no  sign  of  any 

peace, 
For  the  hubbub  keeps  a  growing,  and  defies  the  New 

Police  ; 
But  if  I  was  in  the  Vestry,  and  a  leading  sort  of  Man, 
Or  a  Member  of  the   Vocals,  to  get  backers   for  my 

plan. 
Why,  I'd  settle  all  the  squabble  in  the  twinkle  of  a 

needle. 
For  I'd  have  another  candidate — and  that's  the  Parish 

Beadle, 
Who  makes  such  lots  of  Poetry,  himself,  or  else  by 

proxy, 
And  no   one   never  has  no   doubts   about  his  ortho- 
doxy; 
Whereby  —  if  folks  was  wise  —  instead  of  either  of 

them  Scholars, 
And  straining  their  own  lungs  along  of  contradictious 

hollers. 
They'll  lend  their  ears  to  reason,  and  take  my  advice  as 

foUers, 
Namely  —  Bumble  for  the  Chau-man  of  the  Glorious 

ApoUers ! 


ETCHING    MORALIZED.  441 


ETCHEs^G  MORALIZED. 

TO    A    NOBLE    LADY. 

"To  point  a  moral."  —  Johnson. 

Fairest  Lady  and  Xoble,  for  once  on  a  time, 
Condescend  to  accept,  in  the  humblest  of  rhyme, 

And  a  style  more  of  Gay  than  of  ]VIilton, 
A.  few  opportune  verses  designed  to  impart 
Some  didactical  hints  in  a  Needlework  Art, 

Not  described  by  the  Countess  of  Wilton. 

An  Art  not  unkno\vn  to  the  delicate  hand 
Of  the  fairest  and  first  in  this  insular  land, 

But  in  Patronage  Royal  delighting  ; 
And  which  now  your  own  feminine  fantasy  wins, 
Though  it  scarce  seems  a  lady-like  work  that  begins 

In  a  scratching  and  ends  in  a  biting ! 

Yet,  O !  that  the  dames  of  the  Scandalous  School 
Would  but  use  the  same  acid,  and  sharp-pointed  tool, 

That  are  plied  m  the  said  operations  — 
O !  would  that  our  Candors  on  cop])or  would  sketch  ! 
For  the  first  of  all  things  in  beginning  to  etch 

Are  —  good  grounds  for  our  representations. 

Those  protective  and  delicate  coatings  of  wax. 
Which  are  meant  to  resist  the  corrosive  attacks 

That  would  ruin  the  copper  completely  ; 
Thin  cerements  which  whoso  remembers  the  Bee, 
So  applauded  by  Watts,  the  divine  LL.  D., 

Will  be  careful  to  spread  very  neatly. 

For  why  ?  like  some  intricate  deed  of  the  law, 
Should  the  ground  in  the  process  be  left  >vith  a  flaw, 


442  ETCHING    MORALIZED. 

Aquafortis  is  far  from  a  joker  ; 
And  attacking  the  part  that  no  coating  protects 
Will  turn  out  as  distressing  to  all  your  effects 

As  a  landlord  who  puts  in  a  broker. 

Then  carefully  spread  the  conservative  stuff, 
Until  all  the  bright  metal  is  covered  enough 

To  repel  a  destructive  so  active 
For  in  Etching,  as  well  as  in  Morals,  pray  note 
That  a  little  raw  spot,  or  a  hole  in  a  coat, 

Your  ascetics  find  vastly  attractive. 

Thus  the  ground  being  laid,  very  even  and  flat, 
And  then  smoked  with  a  taper,  till  black  as  a  hat, 

Still  from  future  disasters  to  screen  it. 
Just  allow  me,  by  way  of  precaution,  to  state. 
You  must  hinder  the  footman  from  changing  yova  plate, 

Nor  yet  suffer  the  butler  to  clean  it. 

Nay,  the  housemaid,  perchance,  in  her  passion  to  scrub, 
May  suppose  the  dull  metal  in  want  of  a  rub, 

Like  the  Shield  which  Swift's  readers  remember  — 
Not  to  mention  the  chance  of  some  other  mishaps, 
Such  as  having  your  copper  made  up  into  caps 

To  be  worn  on  the  First  of  September. 

But  aloof  from  all  damage  by  Betty  or  John, 
You  secure  the  veiled  surface,  and  trace  thereupon 

The  design  you  conceive  the  most  proper  : 
Yet  gently,  and  not  with  a  needle  too  keen, 
Lest  it  pierce  to  the  wax  through  the  pajjer  between, 

And  of  coiu-se  play  Old  Scratch  with  the  copper. 

So  in  worldly  affairs,  the  sharp-practising  man 
Is  not  ahvays  the  one  who  succeeds  in  his  plan, 
Witness  Shylock's  judicial  exposure  ; 


ETCHING    MORALIZED.  443 

"Who,  as  keen  as  his  knife,  yet  with  agony  found. 
That  while  urging  his  jioint  he  was  losing  his  ground, 
And  incurring  a  fatal  disclosure. 

But,  perhaps,  without  tracmg  at  all,  you  may  choose 
To  indulge  in  some  little  extempore  views, 

Like  the  older  artistical  people  ; 
For  example,  a  Corydon  playing  his  pipe, 
In  a  Low  Country  Marsh,  with  a  Cow  after  Cuyp, 

And  a  Goat  skipping  over  a  steeple. 

A  wild  Deer  at  a  rivulet  taking  a  sup, 
With  a  couple  of  Pillars  put  in  to  fill  up, 

Like  the  columns  of  certain  diurnals  ; 
Or  a  very  brisk  sea,  in  a  ver}-  stiff  gale, 
And  a  very  Dutch  boat,  with  a  very  big  sail  — 

Or  a  bevy  of  Retzsch's  Lifernals. 

Architectural  study  —  or  rich  Arabesque  — 
Allegorical  dream  —  or  a  view  picturesque, 

Near  to  Naples,  or  Venice,  or  Florence  ; 
Or  "  as  harmless  as  lambs  and  as  gentle  as  doves," 
A  sweet  family  cluster  of  plump  little  Loves, 

Like  the  Children  by  Rejniolds  or  Lawrence. 

But  whatever  the  subject,  your  exquisite  taste 
Will  insure  a  design  very  charming  and  chaste, 

Lilte  yourself,  full  of  nature  and  beauty  — 
Yet  besides  the  good,  points  you  akeady  reveal, 
You  will  need  a  few  others  —  of  well-tempered  steel. 

And  especially  formed  for  the  duty. 

For  suppose  that  the  tool  be  imperfectly  set, 
Over  many  weak  lengths  in  your  line  you  will  fret. 

Like  a  pupil  of  Walton  and  Cotton 
Who  remains  by  the  brink  of  the  water,  agape, 


444  ETCHING    MORALIZED. 

While  the  jack,  trout,  or  barbel,  effects  its  escape 
Through  the  gut  or  silk  Hue  beiug  rotten. 

Therefore  let  the  steel  point  be  set  truly  and  round, 
That  the  finest  of  strokes  may  be  even  and  sound, 

Flowing  glibly  where  fancy  w^ould  lead  'em. 
But,  alas  for  the  needle  that  fetters  the  hand, 
And  forbids  even  sketches  of  Liberty's  land 

To  be  drawn  with  the  requisite  freedom ! 

O  !  the  botches  I've  seen  by  a  tool  of  the  sort. 
Rather  hitching,  than  etching,  and  making,  in  short, 

Such  stiff,  crabbed,  and  angular  scratches, 
That  the  figures  seemed  statues  or  mummies  from  tombs, 
While  the  trees  were  as  rigid  as  bundles  of  brooms, 

And  the  herbage  hke  bunches  of  matches ! 

The  stiff  clouds  as  if  carefully  ironed  and  starched. 
While  a  cast-iron  bridge,  meant  for  wooden,  o'er-arched 

Something  more  like  a  road  than  a  river. 
Prithee,  who  in  such  characteristics  could  see 
Any  trace  of  the  beautiful  land  of  the  free  — 

The  Free-Mason  —  Free-Trader  —  Free-Liver ! 

But  prepared  by  a  hand  that  is  skilful  and  nice, 
The  fine  ])oint  gHdes  along  like  a  skate  on  the  ice. 

At  the  will  of  the  Gentle  Designer, 
Who  impelling  the  needle  just  presses  so  much, 
That  each  line  of  her  labor  the  copper  may  touch, 

As  if  done  by  a  penny-a-liner. 

And,  behold  !  how  the  fast-growing  images  gleam  1 
Like  the  sparkles  of  gold  in  a  sunshiny  stream, 

Till,  perplexed  by  the  glittering  issue, 
You  repine  for  a  light  of  a  tenderer  kind  — 
And  in  choosing  a  substance  for  making  a  blind, 

Do  not  sneeze  at  the  paper  called  tissue. 


ETCHING    MORALIZED.  445 

For,  subdued  by  the  sheet  so  transparent  and  white, 
Your  design  T\ill  appear  m  a  soberer  light, 

And  reveal  its  defects  on  inspection, 
Just  as  Glory  achieved,  or  jjolitical  scheme, 
And  some  more  of  our  dazzling  performances,  seem 

Not  so  bright  on  a  cooler  rejiedion. 

So  the  juvenile  Poet  with  ecstasy  views 

His  first  verses,  and  dreams  that  the  songs  of  his  Muse 

Are  as  brilliant  as  Moore's  and  as  tender  — 
Till  some  critical  sheet  scans  the  faulty  design, 
And,  alas  !  takes  the  sliine  out  of  every  line 

That  had  formed  such  a  \ision  of  splendor. 

Certain  objects,  however,  may  come  in  your  sketch, 
Which,  designed  by  a  hand  unaccustomed  to  etch. 

With  a  luclvless  result  ma)'  be  branded ; 
Wherefore  add  this  jjarticular  rule  to  your  code. 
Let  all  vehicles  take  the  wrong  side  of  the  road, 

And  man,  woman,  and  child,  be  left-handed. 

Yet  regard  not  the  awkward  appearance  Avith  doubt, 
But  remember  how  often  mere  blessings  fail  out. 

That  at  first  seemed  no  better  than  curses  ; 
So,  till  things  take  a  turn,  live  in  hope,  and  depend. 
That  whatever  is  wrong  will  come  right  in  the  end, 

And  console  you  for  all  your  reverses. 

But  of  errors  why  speak,  when  for  beauty  and  truth 
Your  free,  spirited  Etching  is  worthy,  in  sooth, 

Of  that  Club  (may  all  honor  betide  it !) 
Which,  though  dealing  in  copper,  by  genius  and  taste 
Has  accomplished  a  seiiiice  of  plate  not  disgraced 

By  the  work  of  a  Goldsmith  beside  it !  * 

•  The  Deserted  Village,  illustrated  by  the  Etching  Club. 

38 


446  ETCHING    MOEALIZED. 

So  your  sketch  superficially  drawn  on  the  plate 
It  becomes  you  to  fix  in  a  permanent  state, 

Which  involves  a  precise  operation, 
With  a  keen-biting  fluid,  which  eating  its  tvaij  — 
As  in  other  professions  is  common,  they  say  — 

Has  attained  an  artistical  station. 

And  it's  O  !  that  some  splenetic  folks  I  could  name. 
If  they  must  deal  in  acids,  would  use  but  the  same 

In  such  innocent  graphical  labors  ! 
In  the  place  of  the  virulent  spirit  wheremth  — 
Lilte  the  polecat,  the  weasel,  and  things  of  that  kith  — 

They  keep  biting  the  backs  of  their  neighbors ! 

But  beforehand,  with  wax  or  the  shoemaker's  pitch, 
Vou  must  build  a  neat  dyke  round  the  margin,  in  which 

You  may  pour  the  dilute  aquafortis. 
For  if  raw,  like  a  dram,  it  will  shock  you  to  trace 
Your  design  with  a  horrible  froth  on  its  face, 

Like  a  wi-etch  in  articulo  mortis. 

Like  a  wretch  in  the  ])angs  that  too  many  endure, 
From  the  use  of  strong  ivaters,  without  any  pure, 

A  vile  practice,  most  sad  and  improper ! 
For,  from  painful  examples,  this  warning  is  found. 
That  the  raw  bm-ning  spirit  M-ill  talxe  iq?  the  ground, 

In  the  church-yard,  as  Avell  as  on  copper ! 

But  the  Acid  has  duly  been  lowered,  and  bites 
Only  just  where  the  visible  metal  invites, 

Like  a  nature  inclined  to  meet  troubles  ; 
And,  behold !  as  each  slender  and  glittering  line 
Effervesces,  j'ou  trace  the  completed  design 

In  an  elegant  bead-work  of  bubbles ' 


ETCHING    MORALIZED.  447 

And  yet,  constantly,  secretly,  eating  its  way, 
The  shrewd  acid  is  making  the  substance  its  prey. 

Like  some  sorrow  beyond  inquisition, 
Which  is  gnawing  the  heart  and  the  brain  all  the  while 
That  the  face  is  illumed  by  its  cheerfullest  smile, 

And  the  wit  is  in  bright  ebuUition. 

But  still  stealthily  feeding,  the  treacherous  stuif 
Has  corroded  and  deepened  some  portions  enough  — 

The  pure  sky,  and  the  water  so  placid  — 
And,  these  tenderer  tmts  to  defend  from  attack, 
With  some  turpentine,  varnish,  and  sooty  lamjiblack, 

You  must  stop  out  the  ferreting  acid. 

But  before  with  the  varnisliing  brush  you  proceed, 
Let  the  plate  with  cold  water  be  thoroughly  freed 

From  the  other  less  innocent  liquor  — 
After  which,  on  whatever  you  want  to  ])rotect, 
Put  a  coat  that  will  act  to  that  very  effect. 

Like  the  black  one  that  hangs  on  the  Vicar. 

Then  the  varnish  well  dried  —  urge  the  biting  again. 
But  how  long  at  its  meal  the  eau  forte  may  remain, 

Time  and  practice  alone  can  determine  : 
But  of  course  not  so  long  that  the  Mountain,  and  Mill, 
The  rude  Bridge,  and  the  Figures,  whatever  you  will. 

Are  as  black  as  the  spots  on  your  ermine. 

It  is  true,  none  the  less,  that  a  dark-looking  scrap. 
With  a  sort  of  Blackheath,  and  Black  Forest,  mayhap, 

Is  considered  as  rather  Rembrandty ; 
And  that  very  black  cattle,  and  very  black  sheep, 
A  black  dog,  and  a  Khejjherd  as  black  as  a  sweep, 

Are  the  pets  of  some  great  Dilettante. 


448  ETCHING    MORALIZED. 

So  with  certain  designers,  one  needs  not  to  name, 
All  this  life  is  a  dark  scene  of  sorrow  and  shame, 

From  cm-  bii'th  to  om*  final  adjourning  — 
Yea,  this  excellent  earth  and  its  glories,  alack  ! 
What  with  ravens,  palls,  cottons,  and  devils,  as  black 

As  a  Warehouse  for  Family  Mourning ! 

But  before  your  own  picture  arrives  at  that  pitch, 
While  the  Hghts  are  still  Hght,  and  the  shadows,  though 
rich. 

More  transparent  than  ebony  shutters. 
Never  minding  what  Black-Arted  critics  may  say, 
Stop  the  biting,  and  pour  the  green  fluid  away. 

As  you  please,  into  bottles  or  gutters. 

Then  remo\ing  the  ground  and  the  wax  at  a  heat. 

Cleanse  the  surface  with  oil,  spermaceti,  or  sweet  — 

For  your  hand  a  performance  scarce  proper  — 
So  some  careful  professional  person  secure  — 
For  the  Laundress  will  not  be  a  safe  amatem*  — 
To  assist  you  in  cleaning  the  cujoj^er. 

And,  in  truth,  'tis  a  rather  unpleasantish  job. 
To  be  done  on  a  hot  German  stove,  or  a  hob  — 

Though  as  sure  of  an  instant  forgetting : 
When  —  as  after  the  dark  clearing  off  of  a  storm  — 
The  fair  landscape  shines  out  in  a  lustre  as  warm 

As  the  glow  of  the  sun  in  its  setting ! 

Thus  your  Etching  complete,  it  remains  but  to  hint. 
That  with  cerbiin  assistance  from  paper  and  print. 

Which  the  proper  Mechanic  will  settle. 
You  may  charm  all  your  Friends  —  without  any  sad  tale 
Of  such  perils  and  ills  as  beset  Lady  Sale  — 

With  a  fine  India  Proof  of  your  Metal. 


ODE.  449 

ODE 

ON    A    DISTANT    PROSPECT    OF    CLAPHAM    ACADEMY. 

Ah  me  !  those  old  familiar  bounds  ! 
That  classic  house,  those  classic  grounds, 

My  pensive  thought  recalls  ! 
What  tender  urcliins  now  confine, 
What  little  captives  now  repine, 

Within  von  irksome  walls  ! 

Ay,  that's  the  very  house  !  I  know 
Its  ugly  mndows,  ten  a-row  ! 

Its  chimneys  in  the  rear ! 
And  there's  the  iron  rod  so  high. 
That  drew  the  thunder  fi-om  the  sky, 

And  turned  our  table-beer  ! 

There  I  was  birched  !  there  I  was  bred ! 
There  like  a  little  Adam  fed 

From  Learning's  woful  tree  ! 
The  weary  tasks  I  used  to  con  !  — 
The  hopeless  leaves  I  wept  upon  !  — 

Most  fruitless  leaves  to  me  !  — 

The  summoned  class !  —  the  awful  bow !  — 
I  wonder  who  is  master  now, 

And  wholesome  anguish  sheds  ! 
How  many  ushers  now  employs, 
How  many  maids  to  see  the  boys 

Have  nothing  in  their  heads  ! 

And  Mrs.  S  *  *  *  ?  —  Doth  she  abet 
(Like  Pallas  in  the  parlor)  yet 
Some  favored  two  or  three,  — 
38* 


450  ODE. 

The  little  Crichtons  of  the  hour, 
Her  muffin-medals  that  devour, 
And  svrill  her  prize  —  bohea  ? 

Ay,  there's  the  playground !  there's  the  lime, 
Beneath  whose  shade  in  summer's  prime 

So  wildly  I  have  read  !  — 
Who  sits  there  no2v,  and  skims  the  cream 
Of  young  Romance,  and  weaves  a  dream 

Of  Love  and  Cottage-bread  ? 

Who  stmts  the  Randall  of  the  walk  ? 
Who  models  tiny  heads  in  chalk  ? 

Who  scoops  the  light  canoe  ? 
What  early  genius  buds  apace  ? 
Where's  Pointer  ?  Harris  ?  Bowers  ?  Chase  ? 

Hal  Baylis  ?  blithe  Carew  ? 

Alack  !  they're  gone  —  a  thousand  ways  ! 
And  some  are  serving  in  "  the  Greys," 

And  some  have  perished  j'oung  !  — 
Jack  Harris  weds  his  second  Avife  ; 
Hal  Baj'Hs  drives  the  wayne  of  life ; 

And  blithe  Carew  —  is  hung  ! 

Grave  Bowers  teaches  ABC 
To  Savages  at  Owhyee  ; 

Poor  Chase  is  with  the  worms !  — 
All,  all  are  gone  —  the  olden  breed  !  — 
New  crops  of  mushroom  boys  succeed, 

"  And  push  us  from  our  forms !  " 

Lo !  where  they  scramble  forth,  and  shout, 
And  leap,  and  skip,  and  mob  about, 
At  play  where  we  have  played! 


"  ODE.  451 

Some  hop,  some  run,  (some  fall,)  some  twine 
Their  crony  arms  ;  some  in  the  shine, 
And  some  are  in  the  shade ! 

Lo  there  what  mixed  conditions  run ! 
The  orphan  lad  ;  the  widow's  son ; 

And  Fortune's  fiivored  care  — 
The  wealthy  born,  for  whom  she  hath 
Macadamized  the  future  path  — 

The  nabob's  pampered  heir ! 

Some  brightly  starred  —  some  evil  bom,  — 
For  honor  some,  and  some  for  scorn,  — 

For  fair  or  foul  renown  ! 
Good,  bad,  indifferent  —  none  they  lack  ! 
Look,  here's  a  white,  and  there's  a  black ! 

And  there's  a  Creole  brown  ! 

Some  laugh  and  sing,  some  mojie  and  weep, 
And  wish  their  fi-ugal  su"es  would  keep 

Their  only  sons  at  home  ;  — 
Some  tease  the  future  tense,  and  plan 
The  full-grown  doings  of  the  man. 

And  pant  for  years  to  come  I 

A  fooUsh  wish  !     There's  one  at  hoop ; 
And  four  at  jives  !  and  five  who  stoop 

The  marble  taw  to  speed ! 
And  one  that  curvets  in  and  out. 
Reining  his  fellow-cob  about, 

Would  I  were  in  his  steed  ! 

Yet  he  would  gladly  halt  and  drop 
That  boyish  harness  off,  to  swop 

With  tliis  world's  heavy  van  — 
To  toil,  to  tug.     O  little  fool ! 


452  ooE, 

While  thou  canst  be  a  horse  at  school 
To  wish  to  be  a  man ! 

Perchance  thou  deem'st  it  were  a  thing 
To  wear  a  crown,  —  to  be  a  king  ! 

And  sleejD  on  regal  down  ! 
Alas  !  thou  know'st  not  kingly  cai'es  ; 
Far  happier  is  thy  head  that  wears 

That  hat  without  a  crown  ! 

And  dost  thou  think  that  years  acquire 
New  added  joys  P     Dost  tliinlt  thy  sire 

More  happy  than  his  son  ? 
That  manhood's  mirth  ?  —  O,  go  thy  ways 
To  Drury-lane  when Inlays, 

And  see  how  forced  our  fun  ! 

Thy  taws  are  brave  !  —  thy  tops  are  rare  !  — 
Our  tops  are  spun  Avith  coils  of  care, 

Our  dnmps  are  no  deliglit  !  — 
The  Elgin  marbles  are  but  tame, 
And  'tis  at  best  a  sorry  game 

To  fly  the  Muse's  kite  ! 

Our  hearts  are  dough,  our  heels  are  lead, 
Our  topmost  joys  fall  dull  and  dead, 

Like  balls  with  no  rebound  ! 
And  often  with  a  faded  eye 
We  look  l:)eliind,  and  send  a  .sigh 

Towards  that  merry  ground  ! 

Then  be  contented.     Thou  hast  got 
The  most  of  heaven  in  thy  young  lot ; 

There's  sky-blue  in  thy  cup  ! 
Thou'lt  find  thy  manhood  all  too  fost  — 
Soon  come,  soon  gone  !  and  age  at  last 

A  sorry  breaking  vp  ! 


A    RETROSPECTIYE    REVIEW.  453 


A  EETROSPECTWE  REVIEW. 

O,  WHEN  I  was  a  tiny  boy 

My  days  and  nights  were  full  of  joy, 

My  mates  were  blithe  and  kind  !  — 
No  wonder  that  I  sometimes  sigh, 
And  dash  the  tear-drop  from  my  eye, 

To  cast  a  look  behind ! 

A  hoop  was  an  eternal  round 

Of  pleasure.     In  those  days  I  found 

A  top  a  joyous  thing  ;  — 
But  now  those  past  delights  I  drop ; 
My  head,  alas  !  is  all  my  top. 

And  careful  thoughts  the  string ! 

My  marbles,  —  once  my  bag  was  stored,  - 
Now  I  must  play  with  Elgin's  lord, 

With  Theseus  for  a  taw  ! 
My  playful  horse  has  slipt  his  string ! 
Forgotten  all  his  capering, 

And  harnessed  to  the  law  ! 

My  kite  —  how  fast  and  far  it  flew  ! 
Whilst  I,  a  sort  of  Franklin,  drew 

My  pleasure  from  the  sky  ! 
'Twas  papered  o'er  with  studious  themes, 
The  tasks  I  wrote  —  my  present  dreams 

Will  never  soar  so  high  ! 

My  joys  are  ^^ingless  all  and  dead  ; 

My  dumps  are  made  of  more  than  lead ; 

My  flights  soon  find  a  fall ; 
My  fears  prevail,  my  fancies  droop, 
Joy  never  cometh  ^vith  a  hoop, 

And  seldom  ^nth  a  call ! 


^54:  ■*■   BETKOSPECTIVE    UEVIEW. 

My  football's  laid  upon  the  shelf; 
I  am  a  shuttlecock  myself 

The  world  knocks  to  and  fro  ;  — 
My  archery  is  all  unlearned, 
And  grief  against  myself  has  turned 

My  arrows  and  my  bow ! 

No  more  in  noontide  sun  I  bask : 
My  authorship's  an  endless  task, 

My  head's  ne'er  out  of  school ; 
My  heart  is  pained  with  scorn  and  slight, 
I  liave  too  many  foes  to  fight, 

And  friends  grown  strangely  cool ! 

The  very  chum  that  shared  my  cake 
Holds  out  so  cold  a  hand  to  shake, 

It  makes  me  shrink  and  sigh  :  — 
On  this  I  will  not  dwell  and  hang, 
The  changeling  would  not  feel  a  pang 

Though  these  should  meet  his  eye  ! 

No  skies  so  blue  or  so  serene 

As  then  ;  —  no  leaves  look  half  so  green 

As  clothed  the  play-ground  tree  ! 
All  things  I  loved  are  altered  so, 
Nor  does  it  ease  my  heart  to  know 

That  change  resides  in  me  ! 

O,  for  the  garb  that  marked  the  boy. 
The  trousers  made  of  corduroy, 

Well  inked  with  black  and  red ! 
The  crownless  hat,  ne'er  deemed  an  ill  - 
It  only  let  the  sunshine  still 

Repose  upon  my  head  ! 

O,  for  the  riband  round  the  neck  ! 
The  careless  dog's-ears  apt  to  deck 


A    BETROSPECTIVE    KETIEW.  455 

My  book  and  collar  both ! 
How  can  this  formal  man  be  styled 
Merely  an  Alexandrhie  child, 

A  boy  of  larger  growth  ? 

O,  for  that  small,  small  beer  anew ! 

And  (heaven's  own  type)  that  mild  sky-blue 

That  washed  my  sweet  meals  dowai ; 
The  master  even !  —  and  that  small  Turk 
That  fagged  me  —  worse  is  now  my  work  — 

A  fag  for  all  the  town  ! 

O,  for  the  lessons  learned  by  heart ! 
Ay,  though  the  verj'  birch's  smart 

Should  mark  those  hours  again  ; 
I'd  "  kiss  the  rod,"  and  be  resigned 
Beneath  the  stroke,  and  even  find 

Some  sugar  in  the  cane ! 

The  Arabian  Nights  rehearsed  in  bed ! 
The  Fairy  Tales  in  school-time  read, 

By  stealth,  'twixt  verb  and  noun ! 
The  angel  form  that  always  walked 
In  all  my  dreams,  and  looked  and  talked 

Exactly  like  Miss  Brown ! 

The  omne  bene  —  Christmas  come ! 
The  prize  of  merit,  won  for  home  — 

Merit  had  jjrizes  then  ! 
But  now  I  write  for  days  and  days, 
For  fame  —  a  deal  of  empty  praise, 

Without  the  silver  pen  ! 

Then  home,  sweet  home !  the  crowded  coach  — 
The  joyous  shout  —  the  loud  approach  — 


456  FUGITIVE    LINES    ON    PAAVNING    MY    WATCH. 

The  winding  horns  like  rams' ! 
The  meeting  sweet  that  made  me  tlirill. 
The  sweet-meats  almost  sweeter  still, 

No  "satis"  to  the  "jams!" — 

When  that  I  was  a  tiny  boy 

My  days  and  nights  were  full  of  joy. 

My  mates  were  blithe  and  kind ! 
No  wonder  that  I  sometimes  sigh, 
And  dash  the  tear-drop  from  my  eye. 

To  cast  a  look  behind ! 


FUGITIVE  LINES  ON  PAWNING  MY  WATCH. 

"  Aurum  pot-a-hile : "  —  Gold  biles  the  pot.  —  Free  Translation. 

Farewexl  then,  my  golden  repeater. 
We're  come  to  my  Uncle's  old  shop  ; 

And  hunger  won't  be  a  dumb-waiter, 
The  Cerberus  growls  for  a  sop. 

To  quit  thee,  my  comrade  diurnal, 

My  feelings  will  certainly  scotch ; 
But  O !  there's  a  riot  internal. 

And  Famme  calls  out  for  the  Watch  ! 

O  !  hunger's  a  terrible  trial, 

I  really  must  have  a  relief — 
So  here  goes  the  plates  of  your  dial 

To  fetch  me  some  Williams's  beef ! 

As  famished  as  any  lost  seaman, 

I've  fasted  for  many  a  dawn. 
And  now  must  play  chess  with  the  Demon, 

And  give  it  a  check  with  a  pawn. 


FUGITIVE    LINES    OX   PAWNING    MY   -WATCH.  457 

I've  fasted,  since  dining  at  Buncle's, 
Two  days  with  true  Perceval  zeal  — 

And  now  must  make  up  at  my  Uncle's, 
By  getting  a  duplicate  meal. 

No  Peachum  it  is,  or  young  Lockit, 

That  rifles  my  fob  with  a  snatch  ; 
Alas !  I  must  pick  my  own  pocket, 

And  make  gravy-soup  of  my  watch  ! 

So  long  I  have  wandered  a  starver, 

Pm  getting  as  keen  as  a  hawk  ; 
Time's  long  hand  must  take  up  a  carver, 

His  short  hand  lay  hold  of  a  fork. 

Right  heavy  and  sad  the  event  is, 

But  O !  it  is  Poverty's  crime  ; 
I've  been  such  a  Brownrigg's  Apprentice, 

I  thus  must  be  "  out  of  my  Time." 

FollvS  talk  about  dressing  for  dinner, 

But  I  have  for  dinner  undrest ; 
Since  Ciuistmas,  as  I  am  a  sinner, 

I've  eaten  a  suit  of  my  best. 

I  haven't  a  rag  or  a  mummock 

To  fetch  me  a  chop  or  a  steak ; 
I  wish  that  the  coats  of  my  stomach 

Were  such  as  my  Uncle  would  take ! 

WHien  dishes  were  ready  with  garnish 
My  watch  used  to  warn  with  a  chime  — 

But  now  my  rejieater  must  furnish 
The  dinner  in  lieu  of  the  time ! 
39 


458  THE    BROKEN    DISH. 

My  craving  will  have  no  denials, 
I  can't  fob  it  off,  if  you  stay, 

So  go  —  and  the  old  Seven  Dials 
Must  tell  me  the  time  of  the  day. 

Your  chimes  I  shall  never  more  hear  'em,' 
To  part  is  a  Tic  Douloureux  ! 

But  Tempus  has  his  edax  rerum, 
And  I  have  my  Feeding-Time  too  ! 

Farewell  then,  my  golden  repeater, 
We're  come  to  my  Uncle's  old  shop  — 

And  Hunger  won't  be  a  dumb-waiter. 
The  Cerljerus  growls  for  a  sop  ! 

Alas !  when  in  Brook  Street  the  upper 
In  comfort  I  lived  between  walls, 

I've  gone  to  a  dance  for  my  supper ;  — 
But  now  I  must  go  to  Three  Balls  ! 


THE   BROKEN  DISH. 

What's  life  but  full  of  care  and  doubt. 
With  all  its  fine  humanities  ? 

With  parasols  we  walk  about. 
Long  jjigtails  and  such  vanities. 

We  plant  pomegranate  trees  and  things, 

And  go  in  gardens  sporting. 
With  toys  and  fans  of  peacock's  wings, 

To  painted  ladies  courting. 

We  gather  flowers  of  every  hue, 
And  fish  in  boats  for  fishes. 


ODE    TO    PEACE.  459 

Build  summer-houses  painted  blue  — 
But  life's  as  frail  as  dishes. 

Walking  about  theii*  gi'oves  of  trees, 

Blue  bridges  and  blue  rivers, 
How  little  thought  them  two  Chinese, 

They'd  both  be  smashed  to  shivers. 


ODE  TO  PEACE. 

"WRITTEN    ON    THE    NIGHT    OF  MY  MISTRESS'S    GRAND    ROUT. 

O  Peace  !  O  come  with  me  and  dwell  — 

But  stop,  for  there's  the  bell. 
O  Peace  !  for  thee  I  go  and  sit  in  churches. 

On  Wednesday,  when  there's  very  few 

Li  loft  or  pew  — 
Another  ring,  the  tarts  are  come  from  Birch's. 
O  Peace  !  for  thee  I  have  avoided  marriage  — 

Hush  !  there's  a  carriage, 
O  Peace !  thou  art  the  best  of  earthly  goods  — 

The  five  Miss  Woods. 
O  Peace  !  thou  art  the  Goddess  I  adore  — 

There  come  some  more. 
O  Peace !  thou  child  of  solitude  and  quiet  — 
That's  Lord  Drum's  footman,  for  he  loves  a  riot. 
O  Peace ! 

Knocks  will  not  cease. 
O  Peace  !  thou  wert  for  human  comfort  planned  — 

That's  Weippert's  band. 
O  Peace  !  how  glad  I  welcome  thy  approaches  — 

I  hear  the  sound  of  coaches. 
O  Peace  !  O  Peace  !  —  another  carriage  stops  — 

It's  early  for  the  Blenliinsops. 


460  ODE   TO   PEACE. 

O  Peace !  with  thee  I  love  to  wander, 

But  wait  till  I  have  showed  up  Lady  Squander, 

And  now  I've  seen  her  up  the  stair, 

O  Peace  !  —  but  here  comes  Captain  Hare. 

O  Peace  !  thou  ai't  the  slumber  of  the  mmd. 

Untroubled,  calm  and  quiet,  and  unbroken  — 

If  that  is  Alderman  Guzzle  from  Portsoken, 

Alderman  Gobble  won't  be  far  behind ; 

O  Peace  !  serene  in  worldly  shpiess  — 

Make  way  there  for  his  Serene  Highness  ! 

0  Peace  !  if  you  do  not  disdain 
To  dwell  amongst  the  menial  train, 

1  have  a  silent  place,  and  lone. 
That  you  and  I  may  call  our  own  ; 
Where  tumult  never  makes  an  entry  — 
Susan,  what  business  have  you  in  my  pantry  ? 
O  Peace  !  but  there  is  Major  Monk, 

At  variance  with  his  wife  —  O  Peace  ! 
And  that  great  German,  Vander  Trunk, 
And  that  great  talker,  Miss  Apreece ; 
O  Peace  !  so  dear  to  poets'  quills  — 
They're  just  beginning  their  quadrilles  — 

0  Peace  !  our  greatest  renovator ; 

1  wonder  where  I  put  my  waiter  — 

0  Peace  !  —  but  here  my  Ode  I'll  cease ; 

1  have  no  peace  to  write  of  Peace. 


pompey's  ghost.  461 

POMPEY'S   GHOST. 

A    PATHETIC    BALLAD. 

"  Skins  may  differ,  but  affection 
Dwells  in  white  and  black  the  same." 

CowpEn. 

'TwAS  twelve  o'clock,  not  twelve  at  night, 

But  twelve  o'clock  at  noon  ; 
Because  the  sun  was  shining  bright 

And  not  the  silver  moon. 
A  proper  time  for  friends  to  call, 

Or  Pots,  or  Penny  Post ; 
When,  lo  !  as  Phojbe  sat  at  work. 

She  saw  her  Pompey's  Ghost ! 

Now  when  a  female  has  a  call 

From  people  tliat  are  dead. 
Like  Paris  ladies  she  receives 

Her  ^'isitors  in  bed. 
But  Pompey's  spirit  would  not  come 

Like  spirits  that  are  Avhite, 
Because  he  was  a  Blackamoor, 

And  wouldn't  show  at  night ! 

But  of  all  unexpected  things 

That  happen  to  us  here. 
The  most  unpleasant  is  a  rise 

In  what  is  very  dear. 
So  Phoebe  screamed  an  awful  scream 

To  prove  the  seaman's  text. 
That  after  black  appearances. 

White  squalls  will  follow  next. 

"  O,  Phoebe  dear !  O,  Phnpbe  dear! 
Don't  go  to  scream  or  faint ; 
39* 


462  pompey's  ghost. 

You  think  because  I'm  black  I  am 

The  Devil,  but  I  ain't ! 
Behind  the  heels  of  Lady  Lambe 

I  walked  while  I  had  breath ; 
But  that  is  past,  and  I  am  now 

A-walking  after  Death ! 

"  No  murder,  though,  I  come  to  teU 

By  base  and  bloody  crime  ; 
So,  Phoebe  dear,  put  off  your  fits 

To  some  more  fitting  time. 
No  Coroner,  like  a  boatswain's  mate, 

My  body  need  attack. 
With  his  round  dozen  to  find  out 

"\Yhy  I  have  died  so  black. 

"  One  Sunday,  shortly  after  tea, 

M^•  skin  began  to  burn 
As  if  I  had  in  my  inside 

A  heater,  like  the  urn. 
Delirious  in  the  night  I  grew, 

And  as  I  lay  in  bed, 
They  say  I  gathered  all  the  wool 

You  see  upon  my  head. 

"  His  Lordship  for  his  Doctor  sent, 

My  treatment  to  begin  ;  — 
I  wish  that  he  had  called  him  out. 

Before  he  called  him  in  ! 
For  though  to  physic  he  was  bred. 

And  passed  at  Surgeon's  Hall, 
To  make  his  post  a  sinecure 

He  never  cured  at  all ! 

"  The  Doctor  looked  about  my  breast. 
And  then  about  my  back, 


pompey's  ghost.  463 

And  then  he  shook  his  head  and  said, 

'  Your  case  looks  very  black.' 
And  first  he  sent  me  hot  cayenne 

And  then  gamboge  to  swallow, 
But  still  my  fever  would  not  turn 

To  Scarlet  or  to  Yellow  ! 

"  With  madder  and  with  turmeric. 

He  made  his  next  attack  ; 
But  neither  he  nor  all  his  cbugs 

Could  stop  my  dying  black. 
At  last  I  got  so  sick  of  life, 

And  sick  of  being  dosed, 
One  ^londay  morning  I  gave  up 

My  physic  and  the  ghost ! 

"  O,  Phuebe,  dear,  what  pain  it  was 

To  se^er  every  tie  ! 
You  know  black  beetles  feel  as  much 

As  giants  when  they  die. 
And  if  there  is  a  bridal  bed, 

Or  bride  of  Httle  worth. 
It's  lying  in  a  bed  of  mould, 

Along  with  Mother  Earth. 

"  Alas  !  some  happy,  happy  day, 

In  church  I  hoped  to  stand. 
And  like  a  muff  of  sable  skin 

Receive  your  lily  hand. 
But  sternly  with  that  piebald  match 

My  fate  untimely  clashes, 
For  now,  Uke  Pomi)e-double-i, 

I'm  sleeping  in  my  ashes  ! 

"  And  now  farewell !  a  last  farewell ! 
I'm  wanted  down  below. 


464  ODE    TO    DR.    HAHNEMANN. 

And  have  but  time  enough  to  add 

One  word  before  I  go  — 
In  mourning  crape  and  bombazine 

Ne'er  spend  your  precious  pelf- 
Don 't  go  in  black  for  me  —  for  I 

Can  do  it  for  myself. 

"  Henceforth  within  my  grave  I  rest, 

But  Death,  who  there  inherits, 
Allowed  my  spirit  leave  to  come. 

You  seemed  so  out  of  spirits  ; 
But  do  not  sigh,  and  do  not  cry, 

By  grief  too  much  engrossed. 
Nor  for  a  ghost  of  color,  turn 

The  color  of  a  ghost ! 

"  Again,  farewell,  my  Phoebe  dear ! 

Once  more  a  last  adieu  ! 
For  I  must  make  myself  as  scarce 

As  swans  of  sable  hue." 
From  black  to  gray,  from  gray  to  nought 

The  shape  began  to  fade  — 
And,  like  an  egg,  though  not  so  .Avhite, 

The  Ghost  was  newlj'  laid  ! 


ODE  TO  DR.  HAHNEMANN,  THE  HOMCE- 
OPATHIST. 

Well,  Doctor, 
Great  concoctor 
Of  medicines  to  help  in  man's  distress  ; 
Diluting  down  the  strong  to  meek. 
And  making  ev'n  the  weak  more  weak, 


ODE    TO    DE.    HAHXEMA.NX.  465 

"  Fine  by  degrees,  and  beautifully  less"  — 
Founder  of  a  new  system  economic, 
To  druggists  any  thing  hut  comic  ; 

Framed  the  whole  race  of  011aj}ods  to  fret 

At  profits,  like  thy  doses,  very  small ; 

To  put  all  Doctors'  Boys  in  e\il  case, 

Thrown  out  of  bread,  of  physic,  and  of  place  — 

And  show  us  old  Apothecaries'  Hall 
"  To  Let" 

How  fare  thy  Patients  ?  are  they  dead  or  living, 
Or  well  as  can  expected  be,  with  such 
A  style  of  practice,  liberally  giving 

"  A  sum  of  more  to  that  which  had  too  much  ?  " 

Dost  thou  preserve  the  human  frame,  or  turf  it  ? 

Do  thorough  draughts  cure  thorough  colds  or  not  ? 
Do  fevers  yield  to  anv  thing  that's  hot  ? 

Or  liearty  dinners  neutralize  a  surfeit  ? 

Is't  good  advice  for  gastronomic  ills. 

When  Lidigestion's  face  with  pain  is  ciiimpling, 

To  cry,  "  Discard  those  Peristaltic  Pills, 
Take  a  hard  dumpling  ?  " 

Tell  me,  thou  German  Cousin, 
And  tell  me  honestly,  without  a  diddle, 
Does  an  attenuated  dose  of  rosin 
Act  as  a  tonic  on  the  old  Scotch  fiddle  ? 
Tell  me,  when  Anhalt-Coethen  babies  WTiggle, 

Like  eels  j  ust  caught  by  sniggle, 
MartATS  to  some  acidity  internal. 

That  gives  them  pangs  infernal. 
Meanwhile  the  lij)  grows  black,  the  eye  enlarges ; 
Say,  comes  there  all  at  once  a  cherulv-calm. 
Thanks  to  that  soothing  homo-opathic  balm. 
The  half  of  half  of  half  a  di-op  of  "  varges"}  " 


^gg  ODE    TO    DR.    HAHNEMANN. 

Suppose,  for  instance,  upon  Leipzig's  plain, 
A  soldier  pillowed  on  a  heap  of  slain, 
In  urgent  want  both  of  a  priest  and  proctor ; 
When  lo  !  there  comes  a  man  in  green  and  red, 
A  featherless  cocked  hat  adorns  his  head, 
In  short,  a  Saxon  military  doctor  — 
Would  he,  indeed,  on  the  right  treatment  fix, 
To  cure  a  horrid  gajjing  wound. 
Made  by  a  ball  that  weighed  a  pound, 
If  he  well  peppered  it  with  number  six  ? 

Suppose  a  felon  doomed  to  swing 

Within  a  roj^e, 

Might  friends  not  hope 
To  cure  him  with  a  string  f 
Suppose  his  breath  arrived  at  a  full  stop, 
The  shades  of  death  in  a  black  cloud  before  him, 
Would  a  quintillionth  dose  of  the  New  Drop 
Hestore  him  ? 

Fancy  a  man  gone  rabid  from  a  bite, 

Snapping  to  left  and  right, 
And  gi^^ng  tongue  like  one  of  Sebright's  hounds. 

Terrific  sounds, 
The  pallid  neighborhood  with  horror  comng. 
To  hit  the  proper  homoeopathic  marlv  ; 
Now,  might  not  "  the  last  taste  in  life  "  of  bark 

Stop  his  how-wow-ing  ? 
Nay,  with  a  well-known  remedy  to  fit  him. 
Would  he  not  mend,  if,  with  all  proper  care, 

He  took  "  a  Jiair 
Of  tlie  dog  that  hit  him  ?  " 

Picture  a  man  —  we'll  say  a  Dutch  Meinheer  — 
In  evident  emotion, 


ODE   TO   DR.    HAHNEMANN.  467 

Bent  o'er  the  bulwark  of  the  Bata\ier, 

Owning  those  symj)toms  queer 
Some  feel  m  a  Sick  Transit  o'er  the  ocean, 
Can  any  thing  in  life  be  more  pathetic 
Than  when  he  tui-ns  to  us  his  -vn-etched  face  ?  — 

But  would  it  mend  his  case 

To  be  decillionth-dosed 

With  something  like  the  ghost 
Of  an  emetic  ? 

Lo !  now  a  darkened  room  ! 

Look  tlirough  the  dreary  gloom, 
And  see  that  coverlet  of  wildest  form. 
Tost  hke  the  billows  in  a  storm, 
"Where  ever  and  anon,  with  groans,  emerges 

A  ghastly  bead !  — 
While  two  imjjatient  arms  still  beat  the  bed, 
Like  a  strong  swimmer's  struggling  with  the  surf^es: 
There  Life  and  Death  are  on  their  battle-plain. 
With  many  a  mortal  ecstasy  of  pain  — 
WTiat  shall  support  the  body  in  its  trial, 
Cool  the  hot  blood,  Avild  dream,  and  paixhuig  skin, 
And  tame  the  raging  Malady  within  — 
A  sniff  of  Next-to-Nothing  in  a  jjhial  ? 

O !  Doctor  Hahnemann,  if  here  I  laugh 

And  cry  together,  half  and  half. 
Excuse  me,  'tis  a  mood  the  subject  brings, 
To  think,  whilst  I  have  crowed  lilvo  chanticleer. 
Perchance,  from  some  dull  eye  the  hopeless  tear 
Hath  gushed  with  my  hght  le\ity  at  schism. 

To  mourn  some  Martyr  of  Enii)iricism  : 
Perchance,  u])on  thy  system,  I  have  given 
A  pang,  supei'fluous,  to  the  pains  of  Sorrow, 
Who  Aveeps  with  Memory  from  morn  till  even  j 


468  OI'E   TO    DR.    HAHNEMANN. 

Where  comfort  there  is  none  to  lend  or  borrow, 

Sighing  to  one  sad  strain, 

"  She  will  not  come  again, 
To-morrow,  nor  to-morrow,  nor  to-morrow ! " 

Doctor,  forgive  mc,  if  I  dare  prescribe 
A  rule  for  thee  thyself,  and  all  thy  tribe, 
Inserting  a  few  serious  words  by  stealth ; 

Above  all  price  of  wealtli 
The  Body's  jewel  —  not  for  minds  prof ane, 
Or  hands,  to  tamper  with  in  piractice  vain  — 
Like  to  a  Woman^s  Virtue  is  Man's  Health. 
A  heavenly  gift  within  a  holy  shrine  ! 
To  he  ajjproached  and  touched  ivith  serious  fear, 
By  hands  made  jiure,  and  hearts  of  faith  severe, 
Ev'n  as  the  Priesthood  of  the  ONE  divine  ! 

But,  zounds !  each  fellow  with  a  suit  of  black, 

And,  strange  to  fame. 

With  a  diploma'd  name, 
That  carries  two  more  letters  pick-a-back. 
With  cane,  and  snuffbox,  powdered  wig,  and  block, 
Invents  his  dose,  as  if  it  were  a  chrism, 
And  dares  to  treat  our  wondrous  mechanism 
Familiar  as  the  works  of  old  Dutch  clock  ; 
Yet,  how  would  common  sense  esteem  the  man, 
O  how,  my  unrelated  German  cousin, 
AVho  having  some  such  time-keeper  on  trial, 
And  finding  it  too  fast,  enforced  .the  dial. 
To  strike  upon  the  Homoeopathic  plan 

Of  fourteen  to  the  dozen  ? 

Take  my  advice,  'tis  given  without  a  fee,  ' 

Drown,  drown  jour  book  ten  thousand  fathoms  deep, 


ODE  FOB  ST.  Cecilia's  eve.  469 

Like  Prospero's,  beneath  the  briny  sea, 
For  spells  of  magic  have  all  gone  to  sleep ! 
Leave  no  decillionth  fragment  of  your  works 
To  help  the  interest  of  quacldng  Burkes ; 
Aid  not  in  murdering  even  mdows'  mites  — 
And  now  forgive  me  for  my  candid  zeal, 
I  had  not  said  so  much,  but  that  I  feel 
Should  you  take  ill  what  here  my  ISIuse  indites, 
An  Ode-ling  more  will  set  you  all  to  rights. 


ODE  FOR   ST.  CECILIA'S  EVE. 

"  Look  out  for  squalls."  —  The  Pilot. 
O  COME,  dear  Barney  Isaacs,  come, 
Punch  for  one  night  can  si)are  his  drum 

As  well  as  pipes  of  Pan ! 
Forget  not,  Popkins,  your  bassoon, 
Nor,  Mister  Bray,  your  horn,  as  soon 

As  vou  can  leave  the  Van  ; 
Blind  Billy,  bring  yom-  %'iolin  ; 
Miss  Crow,  you're  great  iu  Cherrj'  Ilipe ! 
And  Chubb,  your  viol  must  drop  in 
Its  bass  to  Soger  Tommy's  pipe. 

Ye  butchers,  bring  your  bones  : 
An  organ  would  not  be  amiss ; 
If  grinding  .Tim  has  spouted  his, 

Lend  yours,  good  Mister  Jones. 
Do,  hurdy-gurdy  Jenny  —  do 
B-eep  sol)er  for  an  hour  or  two. 
Music's  charms  to  help  to  ])aint ; 
And,  Sandy  Gray,  if  you  should  not 
Your  bagpipes  bring  —  0  tuneful  Scot! 
Conceive  the  feelings  of  the  Saint ! 
40 


470  ODE  FOR  ST.  Cecilia's  eve. 

Miss  Strummel  issues  an  invite, 

For  music,  and  turn-out  to-night 

In  honor  of  Cecilia's  session ; 

But  ere  you  go,  one  moment  stop, 

And  with  all  kindness  let  me  drop 

A  liint  to  you  and  your  profession. 

Imprimis  then  :  Pray  keep  within 

The  bounds  to  which  yom-  sldll  was  born  ; 

Let  the  one-handed  let  alone  Trombone, 

Don't  —  Rheumatiz !  seize  the  violin. 

Or  x\shmy  snatch  the  horn  ! 

Don't  ever  to  such  rows  give  birth, 

As  if  you  had  no  end  on  earth 

Except  to  "  wake  the  lyre  ;  " 

Don't  "  strike  the  harp,"  pray  never  do. 

Till  others  long  to  strike  it  too, 

Perpetual  harping's  apt  to  tire  ; 

O  I  have  heard  such  flat-and  sharpers, 
I've  blest  the  head 
Of  good  King  Ned, 

For  scragging  all  those  old  Welsh  Harpers  ! 

Pray,  never,  ere  each  tuneful  doing, 
Take  a  prodigious  deal  of  wooing; 
And  then  sit  down  to  thrum  the  strain 
As  if  you'd  never  rise  again  — 
The  least  Cecilia-like  of  things  ; 
Remember  that  the  Saint  has  wings. 
I've  known  Miss  Strummel  i)ause  an  hour. 
Ere  she  could  "  Pluck  the  Fairest  Flower," 
Yet  without  hesitation,  she 
Plunged  next  into  the  "  Deep,  Deep  Sea," 
And  when  on  the  keys  she  docs  begin. 
Such  awful  torments  soon  you  share, 


ODE  FOR  ST.  Cecilia's  eve.  '  471 

She  really  seems  lilce  Milton's  "  Sin," 
Holding  the  keys  of  —  you  know  where ! 

Never  tweak  people's  ears  so  toughly, 

That  urchin-like  they  can't  help  sajing  — 

"  O  dear !  O  dear  —  you  call  this  playing, 

But  O,  it's  playing  very  roughly !  " 

Oft,  in  the  ecstasy  of  pain, 

I've  cursed  all  instrumental  workmen, 

Wished  Broadwood  Thurtelled  in  a  lane, 

And  Kirke  White's  fate  to  every  Khkman  — 

I  really  once  dcUghtcd  spied 

"  dementi  CoUard  "  in  Cheapside. 

Another  word  —  don't  be  sm-prised, 
Revered  and  ragged  street  Musicians, 
You  have  been  only  half-ba})tized, 
And  each  name  proper,  or  improper. 
Is  not  the  value  of  a  copper, 
Till  it  has  had  the  due  additions, 
Husky,  Rusky, 
Ninny,  Tinny, 
Hummel,  Bummel, 
Bowski,  AVowski, 
All  these  are  very  good  selectables  ; 
But  none  of  your  plain  pudding-and-tames  — 
FoUis  that  are  called  the  hardest  names 
Are  music's  most  respectables. 
Ev'ry  woman,  ev'ry  man, 
Look  as  foreign  as  you  can. 
Don't  cut  your  hair,  or  wash  your  skin, 
Make  ugly  faces  and  liegin. 

Each  Dingy  Or])heus  gravely  hears, 
And  now  to  show  thev  understand  it ! 


472  ODE  FOR  ST.  Cecilia's  eve. 

Miss  Crow  her  scrannel  throttle  clears, 
And  all  the  rest  prepare  to  band  it. 
Each  scraper  ripe  for  concertante, 
Rozins  the  hair  of  Rozinante : 
Then  all  sound  A,  if  they  know  which. 
That  they  may  join  Uke  birds  in  June  : 
Jack  Tar  alone  neglects  to  tune, 
For  he's  all  over  concert-pitch. 
A  little  prelude  goes  before, 
Like  a  knock  and  ring  at  music's  door. 
Each  instrument  gives  in  its  name  ; 
Then  sitting  in 
They  all  begin 
To  play  a  musical  round  game. 
Scrapenberg,  as  the  eldest  hand. 
Leads  a  fii'st  fiddle  to  the  band, 

A  second  follows  suit ; 
Anon  the  ace  of  Homs  comes  plump 
On  the  two  fiddles  with  a  trump  ; 

PufRndorf  ])lays  a  flute. 
This  sort  of  musical  revoke. 
The  grave  bassoon  begins  to  smoke. 
And  in  rather  grumpy  kind 
Of  tone  begins  to  speak  its  mind  ; 
The  double  drum  is  next  to  mix, 
Playing  the  Devil  on  Two  Sticks  — 
Clamor,  clamor, 
Hammer,  hammer, 
While  now  and  then  a  pipe  is  heard, 
Lisisting  to  put  in  a  word 

With  all  his  shrilly  best ; 
So  to  allow  the  little  minion 
Time  to  deliver  his  opinion, 

They  take  a  few  bars  rest. 


ODE  FOR  ST.  Cecilia's  eve.  473 

Well,  little  Pipe  begins  —  with  sole 
And  small  voice  going  thro'  the  hole, 

Beseeching, 

Preaching, 

Squealing, 

Appealing, 
Now  as  high  as  he  can  go. 
Now  in  language  rather  low, 
And  having  done  —  liegins  once  more, 
Verbatim  what  he  said  before. 
,This  t\\iddling-twaddling  sets  on  fire 
All  the  old  instrumental  ire. 
And  fiddles,  for  explosion  ripe. 
Put  out  the  Httle  squeaker's  pipe  ; 
This  wakes  bass  viol —  and  viol  for  that 
Seizing  on  innocent  little  B  flat. 
Shakes  it  like  terrier  shaking  a  rat  — 

They  all  seem  micliing  malico  ! 
To  judge  from  a  rumble  unawares. 
The  drum  has  had  a  pitch  down  stairs ; 
And  the  trumpet  rash, 
By  a  violent  crash. 
Seems  splitting  somebody's  calico  ! 
The  viol  too  groans  in  deep  distress, 
As  if  he  suddenly  grew  sick  ; 
And  one  rapid  fiddle  sets  off  express  — 

HuiTying, 

Scun-ying, 

Spattering, 

Clattering, 
To  fetch  him  a  Doctor  of  Music, 
This  tumult  sots  tlie  Haut-boy  crj'ing 
Beyond  the  Piano's  pacifying, 
40  • 


474  o^^  ^'^^  ^'^'  Cecilia's  eve. 

The  cymbal 
Gets  nimble, 
Triangle 
Must  wrangle, 
The  band  is  becoming  most  martial  of  bands, 
When  just  in  the  middle, 
A  quakerly  fiddle. 
Proposes  a  general  shaking  of  hands  ! 
Quaking, 
Shaking, 
Quivering, 
Shivering, 
Long  bow  —  short  bow  —  each  bow  drawing  : 

Some  like  filing  —  some  like  sawing  ; 
At  last  these  agitations  cease, 
And  they  all  get 
The  flageolet. 
To  breathe  "  a  piping  time  of  peace." 

Ah,  too  deceitful  charm, 
Like  hghtning  before  death. 
For  Scrapenbcrg  to  rest  his  arm, 
And  Puflindorf  get  breath  ! 
Again  witliout  remorse  or  pity. 
They  play  "  The  Storming  of  a  City." 
Miss  S.  herself  composed  and  planned  it  — 
When  lo !  at  this  renewed  attack. 
Up  jumps  a  little  man  in  black  — 
"  The  very  Devil  cannot  stand  it ! " 
And  -with  that. 
Snatching  hat, 
(Not  his  own,) 
Off  is  flown. 
Thro'  the  door, 


THE    LOST    HEIR.  475 


In  his  black, 

To  come  back, 
Never,  never,  never,  more  ! 
O  Music  !  praises  thou  hast  had. 
From  Dryden  and  from  Pojje, 
For  thy  good  notes,  yet  none  I  hope, 

But  I,  e'er  praised  the  bad. 
Yet  are  not  saint  and  sinner  even  ? 
Miss  Strummel  on  Cecilia's  level  ? 
One  drew  an  angel  down  from  heaven  ! 
The  other  scared  away  the  De\il ! 


THE  LOST  HEIR. 

"  0  where,  and  0  where 
Is  my  bonnie  laddie  gone  ? "  —  Old  Song. 

0>fE  day,  as  I  was  going  by 

That  part  of  Holborn  christened  High, 

I  heard  a  loud  and  sudden  cry 

That  cliilled  my  very  blood ; 
And  lo  !  from  out  a  dirty  alley. 
Where  pigs  and  Irish  wont  to  rally, 
I  saw  a  crazy  woman  sally. 

Bedaubed  with  grease  and  mud. 
She  turned  her  East,  she  turned  her  West, 
Staring  like  Pythoness  possest. 
With  streaming  hair  and  hcaraig  breast, 

As  one  stark  mad  with  grief. 
This  wa\'  and  that  she  wildly  ran, 
JostHng  with  woman  and  with  man  — 
Her  right  hand  held  a  frying-pan, 

The  left  a  lumj)  of  beef. 


476  THE    LOST    HEIR. 

At  last  her  frenzy  seemed  to  reach 
A  point  just  capable  of  speech, 
And  with  a  tone,  almost  a  screech, 

As  wild  as  ocean  birds, 
Or  female  Ranter  moved  to  preach. 

She  gave  her  "  sorrow  words." 

"  O  Lord !  O  dear,  my  heart  will  break,  I  shall  go  stick 

stark  staring  wild ! 
Has  ever  a  one  seen  any  thing  about  the  streets  like  a 

crying  lost-looking  child  ? 
Lawk  help  me,  I  don't  know  where  to  look,  or  to  rmi,  if 

I  only  knew  which  way  — 
A  Child  as  is  lost  about  London  streets,  and  es23ecially 

Seven  Dials,  is  a  needle  in  a  bottle  of  hay. 
I  am  all  in  a  quiver  —  get  out  of  my  sight,  do,  you 

wretch,  you  Uttle  Kitty  M'Xab  ! 
You  promised  to  have  half  an  eye  to  him,  you  know 

you  did,  you  dirty  deceitful  young  drab. 
The  last  time  as  ever  I  see  him,  poor  thing,  was  with 

my  own  blessed  ]\Iothei-ly  eyes. 
Sitting  as  good  as  gold  in  the  gutter,  a  plajing  at  making 

little  dirt  pies. 
I  wonder  he  left  the  court,  where  he  was  better  off  than 

all  the  other  young  boys. 
With  tAvo  bricks,  an  old  shoe,  nine  oyster-shells,  and  a 

dead  kitten  by  way  of  toys. 
When  his  Father  comes  home,  and  he  always  comes 

home  as  sure  as  ever  the  clock  strikes  one. 
He'll  be  rampant,  he  will,  at  his  child  being  lost ;  and 

the  beef  and  the  inguns  not  done ! 
La  bless  you,  good  folks,  mind  your  own  concai'ns,  and 

don't  be  making  a  mob  in  the  street ; 
O  Seijeant  M'Farlane !  you  have  not  come  across  my 

poor  Httle  boy,  have  you,  in  your  beat  ? 


THE    LOST    HEIR.  477 

Do,  good  people,  move  on !  don't  stand  staring  at  me 

like  a  parcel  of  stupid  stuck  pigs  ; 
Saints  forbid  !  but  he's  p'r'aps  been  inviggled  away  up  a 

court  for  the  sake  of  his  clothes  by  the  priggs ; 
He'd  a  very  good  jacket,  for  certain,  for  I  bought  it  my- 
self for  a  shilling  one  day  in  Rag  Fair  ; 
And  his  trousers  considering  not  very  much  patched,  and 

red  plush,  they  was  once  his  Father's  best  pair. 
His  shirt,  it's  very  lucky  I'd  got  washing  in  the  tub,  or 

that  might  have  gone  with  the  rest ; 
But  he'd  got  on  a  very  good  pinafore  A\-ith  only  two  sUts 

and  a  burn  on  the  breast. 
He'd  a  goodish  sort  of  hat,  if  the  crown  was  sewed  in, 

and  not  quite  so  much  jagged  at  the  brim. 
With  one  shoe  on,  and  the  other  shoe  is  a  boot,  and  not 

a  fit,  and  you'll  know  by  that  if  it's  him. 
Except  being  so  well  dressed,  my  mind  would  misgive, 

some  old  beggar  woman  in  want  of  an  orphan 
Had  borrowed  the  child  to  go  a  begging  with  ;  but  I'd 

rather  see  him  laid  out  in  his  coffin ! 
Do,  good  people,  move  on  ;  such  a  rabble  of  boys  !  I'll 

break  every  bone  of  'em  I  come  near ; 
Go   home  —  you're  spilling   the   porter  —  go   home  — 

Tommy  Jones,  go  along  with  your  beer. 
This  day  is  the  sorrowfuUest  day  of  my  life,  ever  since 

my  name  was  Betty  Morgan. 
Them  vile  Savoyards!  they  lost  him  once  before  all 

along  of  following  a  Monkey  and  an  Organ : 
O  my  Billy  —  my  head  will  turn  right  round  — if  he's 

got  kiddynapped  with  them  Italians 
They'll  make  him  a  plaster  parish  image  boy,  they  mil, 

the  outlandish  tattcrdcmahons. 
Billy  —  where  are  you,  Billy  ?  —  I'm  as  hoarse  as  a  crow, 
with  screaming  for  ye,  you  young  sorrow  ! 


478  THE    LOST    HEIR. 

And  shan't  have  half  a  voice,  no  more  I  shan't,  for  crying 
fi'esh  herrings  to-morrow. 

0  Billy,  you're  bursting  my  heart  in  two,  and  ni}-  life 

won't  be  of  no  more  vally. 

If  I'm  to  see  other  folks'  darlins,  and  none  of  mine,  play- 
ing like  angels  in  our  alley. 

And  Avhat  shall  I  do  but  cry  out  my  eyes,  when  I  looks 
at  the  old  three-legged  chair 

As  Billy  used  to  make  coach  and  horses  of,  and  there 
a'nt  no  Billy  there  ! 

1  would  run  all  the  wide  world  over  to  find  him,  if  I  only 

knowed  where  to  run  ; 
Little  Murphy,  now  I  remember,  was  once  lost  for  a 

month  through  stealing  a  penny-bun  — 
The  Lord  forbid  of  any  child  of  mine !  I  think  it  would 

kill  me  rally 
To  find  my  Bill  holdin'  up  his  Httle  innocent  hand  at  the 

Old  Bailey. 
For  though  I  say  it  as  oughtn't,  yet  I  will  say,  you  may 

search  for  miles  and  mileses 
And  not  find  one  better  brought  up,  and  more  pretty 

behaved,  from  one  end  to  t'other  of  St.  Giles's. 
And  if  I  called  him  a  beauty,  it's  no  lie,  but  only  as  a 

Mother  ought  to  speak ; 
You  never  set  eyes  on  a  more  handsomer  face,  only  it 

hasn't  been  washed  for  a  week  ; 
As  for  hair,  though  it's  red,  it's  the  most  nicest  hair  when 

I've  time  to  just  show  it  the  comb  ; 
I'll  owe  'em  five  pounds,  and  a  blessing  besides,  as  will 

only  bring  him  safe  and  sound  home, 
lie's  blue  eyes,  and  not  to  be  called  a  squint,  though  a 

Httle  cast  he's  certainly  got ; 
And  his  nose  is  still  a  good  un,  though  the  bridge  is 

broke,  by  liis  falling  on  a  pewter  pint  pot ; 


THE    LOST   HEIR.  479 

He's  got  the  most  elegant  wide  mouth  in  the  world,  and 

very  large  teeth  lor  his  age  ; 
And  quite  as  fit  as  Mrs.  Murdockson's  child  to  play- 
Cupid  on  the  Drury  Lane  Stage. 
And  then  he  has  got  such  dear  winning  Avays  —  but  O  I 

never  never  shall  see  him  no  more  ! 
O  dear !  to  think  of  losing  him  just  after  nussing  him 

back  from  death's  door  ! 
Only  the  very  last  month,  when  the  windfalls,  hang  'em, 

was  at  twenty  a  penny  ! 
And  the  threepence  he'd  got  by  grottoing  v?as  spent  in 

plums,  and  sixt}-  for  a  child  is  too  many. 
And  the  Cholera  man  came  and  wliitewashed  us  all,  and, 

drat  him,  made  a  seize  of  our  hog.  — 
It's  no  use  to  send  the  Cryer  to  cry  liim  about,  he's  such 

a  blundcrin'  drunken  old  dog ; 
The  last  time  he  was  letchcd  to  find  a  lost  child,  he  was 

guzzling  Avith  his  bell  at  the  Crown, 
And  went  and  cried  a  boy  instead  of  a  girl,  for  a  dis- 
tracted Mother  and  Father  about  Town. 
Billy  —  where  are  you,  Billy,  I  say  ?  come,  Billy,  come 

home,  to  yom*  best  of  Mothers ! 
I'm  scared  when  I  think  of  them  Cabroleys,  they  drive 

so,  they'd  run  over  their  own  Sisters  and  Brothers. 
Or  may  be  he's  stole  by  some  chimbly  sweeping  wretch, 

to  stick  fast  in  narrow  flues  and  what  not. 
And  be  poked  up  behind  with  a  j)icked  pointed  pole,  when 

the  soot  has  ketched,  and  the  chimbly's  red  hot. 

0  I'd  give  the  whole  wide  world,  if  the  world  was  mine, 

to  clap  my  two  longin'  eyes  on  his  fiice. 
For  he's  my  darlin  of  darlins,  and  if  he  don't  soon  come 
back,  you'll  see  me  drop  stone  dead  on  the  ])lace. 

1  only  wish  I'd  got  him  safe  in  these  two  Motherly  arms, 

and  wouldn't  I  hug  him  and  kiss  hun  ! 


4gQ  THOSE    EVENING    BELLS. 

Lank !  I  never  knew  what  a  precious  he  was  —  but  a 
child  don't  not  feel  like  a  child  till  you  miss  him. 

AVhy,  there  he  is  !  Punch  and  Judy  hunting,  the  young 
wretch,  it's  that  Billy  as  sartin  as  sin  ! 

But  let  me  get  him  home,  with  a  good  grip  of  his  hair,  and 
I'm  blest  if  he  shall  have  a  whole  bone  in  his  skin ! 


THOSE   EVENING  BELLS. 

"  I'd    be    a    PAIIODY." 

Those  Evening  Bells,  those  Evening  Bells, 
How  many  a  tale  their  music  tells, 
Of  Yorkshire  cakes  and  crumpets  prime, 
And  letters  only  just  in  time  !  — 

The  Muffin-boy  has  passed  away, 
The  Postman  gone  —  and  I  must  pay, 
For  down  below  Deaf  Mary  dwells, 
And  does  not  hear  those  Evening  Bells. 

And  so  'twill  be  when  she  is  gone, 
That  tuneful  peal  will  still  ring  on. 
And  other  maids  with  timely  yells 
Forget  to  stay  those  Evening  Bells. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA      000  266  378    9 


i*.ij'.'r.. 


